Property
by Innocent Thief
Summary: She never knew that meeting Danny Fenton would change her life forever. Property is what she would become. Phantom's property. But can love form between these two lonely souls? In a midst of war and betrayal, Samantha Manson is yet to find out. [AU]
1. Author's Note

To my avid subscribers and readers,

This is the **revised** version of Property, a story I'd begun years ago and have now just gotten back into. I will be completing this story, hopefully sometime soon. If you read the old version, you'll find some similar situations and dialogue occurring. But don't get too hung up on the similarities. This new version is completely different, and much better in my opinion.

Enjoy the read! And please review! - Innocent Thief


	2. Dichotomy

Chapter One Revised

_Dichotomy  
_

Two years. He had spent two years fighting to protect Amity Park from the ghosts who threatened it on a daily basis. Two years of setting aside his friendships, his family, his wants, his dreams for the sake of the city he loved. For two years he had sacrificed himself. He went boldly into battle with no comrades, no support, and no guarantee of survival.

For two whole years.

After all he had done, all he had given up, didn't they care? Didn't they feel any sympathy, any respect, any gratitude?

The response? A resounding no.

Being a hero meant nothing to these people. All they cared about was their stupid fast food restaurants, their insignificant social status, and their petty love games. Danny Phantom—the boy meant to be a symbol of security, a savior—was now their sworn enemy.

Was it justified? No. It was true he'd lost his temper a few times during his budding years as a hero and the city had nearly been destroyed as a result. But he'd saved the city more times than one could count. That should have made up for it.

Again, no.

And true, the Nasty Burger had fallen to the ground in a heap of melted tar, wood, and metal after an accidental fire. It had been a bad day. Danny Fenton had been pushed to his limit during school—failed a test, rejected by his crush, bullied by jocks—and Danny Phantom had just so happened to let all his anger out that same day. Were those few accidents enough to warrant a bounty on his head?

A soft sigh broke the stillness of the night. Floating above one of Amity Park's apartment complexes, with his arms crossed behind his head and his eyes on the stars, was Public Enemy #1 for one year running.

"You would think I'd have quit reminiscing about the _good old days_ already," he murmured with a short laugh. Green eyes flashed in the darkness and narrowed. Good was an understatement. A severe understatement.

He had changed. He wasn't the same Danny anymore. He was Phantom. Just Phantom.

He was older. Stronger. Faster. Better. And more terrifying than ever. No more scrawny arms and weak voice. No cheerful, slightly awkward, and insensibly optimistic child. He had become an outcast. A sadist. A runaway.

Well, that wouldn't actually be correct...

Danny _Phantom_ had run the Fentons out of Amity Park, claiming their son was being held captive in the Ghost Zone after the falling of the Nasty Burger and would be returned if they followed all his instructions. A simple threat. Which they easily fell for. They didn't even ask why he was being held captive. Which was a relief since he wouldn't have had an answer. And they had left instantly, under strict orders not to communicate with the residents of Amity Park, so no one else knew the truth of the matter. They merely thought the family had up and left, abandoning their son.

The day Danny Phantom became Public Enemy #1 was essentially the day Danny Fenton died.

For appearance's sake, or maybe for his own twisted pleasure, he still went to Casper High with Tucker, the technology-obsessed _human_ who was still oblivious to the fact that Danny _Fenton_ was Danny _Phantom._

Nobody knew his secret. Not even his self-proclaimed genius sister had discovered it, and it was she whom he'd trusted the most. It was better this way. This was _his_ life. No one else had any right to be a part of it unless he allowed them. No one had any right to intrude on his perfect little kingdom called Amity Park.

This new life as a criminal, an enemy, was what he had desired all along. He'd never had so much power, so much influence, so much attention. The anger that had bubbled beneath the surface every day of his mortal life finally had an outlet. He let it rage and cause havoc and disappear for a brief moment so all that was left was bliss…until the anger bubbled again.

A grin spread across Phantom's pale face. He let out a breath and watched the puff of smoke rise, slowly dissipating in the warm air.

Now that he had become an enemy of the city he was going to live up to that title, in more ways than one.

He slowly planted his feet on the ground, glancing at the various houses whose lights were on with little interest. His grin widened. He clenched his fists and drew in a deep breath. When he opened his mouth again an ear-piercing, other-worldly wail sent all the buildings in the city trembling and shaking, toppling over each other and falling to the ground in a heap of rubble. He heard the screams of terror echoing through his ears.

"Enjoy," he scoffed, his grin returning to his pale face, before dematerializing and falling down through the walls into his apartment.

* * *

Samantha Manson sighed as she rolled over in bed, hearing screams and shouts coming from outside her window. She groaned, throwing the blankets over her head. _It's another stupid teenage prank, isn't it? It's like Halloween all over again._

She continually tossed and turned in bed as the screams ceased to stop. "Shut up," she moaned, burrowing into her pillow. "Some people have school tomorrow."

The screams continued.

She groaned, yanked her pillow down and held it over her head. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

The noise outside her apartment refused to die down, as if it was just egging her on. Sam growled and flung the pillow across her room."Fine. Let's play. I can scream too, punks." She shot out of bed and quickly made her way to the window, tripping over clothes, notebooks, and her pillow on the way. She tore the curtains open and felt her breath get caught in her throat.

Sirens wailed. Children screamed. Men cursed. Fire spewed from broken windows. People covered in dust stumbled out of the rubble of what once had been their home. Fire trucks extended their ladders to reach people stuck on the roofs of toppled buildings.

"What…happened?" she whispered. Everything had been fine this morning. There had been no disturbances. No bad news to report. It had been a perfect day.

This kind of destruction. This kind of cruelty. The harsh exposure of the city's false sense of security. It could only be the work of one person. One…ghost.

Sam breathed shallowly, clutching her curtains in white-knuckled fists. "Phantom." The sound of that accursed name echoed around her. She could have sworn she heard someone or some_thing_ laugh in response.

Without another thought, she grabbed a pair of boots and a coat and ran out the door to try to help as many people as she could. She would be damned if she acted as an inadvertent accomplice to Phantom's schemes.

He wanted them to suffer.

So she would help them heal.


	3. The Anger

Chapter Two Revised

_The Anger_

"Hey Danny, you ready for that test today?" Tucker asked, fidgeting with his handheld computer.

The raven-haired male raised a questioning eyebrow, keeping his gaze on the PDA in Tucker's hand. "Test?" Why would his thoughts turn to school when there was so much else to keep him occupied? He'd gone to sleep amidst the screams of the people who'd ruined his life. It had been one of the most restful nights he had gotten in quite some time as he'd waited for the city to repair itself from his last attack two months prior. Why he bothered to remain in high school was a mystery. To not be alone, maybe? But that couldn't be right. He always craved solitude when he was here. Maybe it was just for the sake of the person he'd once been and the human who'd once been his best friend. Maybe it was just him clinging to a life he no longer had. But he didn't want that life anymore. It brought him nothing but pain. Maybe it was just more a routine. After all, there were only so many people in Amity Park. If he was going to play, he should draw out the game as long as possible to make it more exciting.

"Yep. Test," Tucker said, nodding his head matter-of-factly. "It's that four-letter synonym for hell. Did you even study?"

"Did you?" Danny retorted, sounding very bored with the conversation as he leaned back in his chair.

The boy rolled his eyes, adjusted his red cap, and leaned closer to the equipment in his hands, intent on the game he was playing. "Do you think I ever study? It's unnecessary."

Danny laughed shortly. "Humans," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Tucker frowned. "Yeah, okay. Gosh, what's gotten into you? Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"

"Nothing," Danny said, a little too harshly. He turned his head to the classroom window, avoiding the curious side-glance his friend was giving him. "I'm fine. How many times do we have to have this conversation before you realize that?"

"Well sorry, but ever since Phantom started showing up you've been acting differently." Tucker's eyes narrowed and he gave Danny a look. "Have aliens taken over your body? Are you here to study me? Because I swear I know nothing about alien life. Only what I've hacked from government websites."

Danny turned back to stare at him blankly, trying to decide if that had been a joke or an actual conclusion.

Tucker returned the stare and raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm, alien creature? Have you caught you red-handed? Or is it green-handed? Purple, maybe?"

"Wow. Harvard must be missing you." Danny hissed, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Tucker stopped messing with his PDA to look at his best friend. Actually look at him. His hair was a mess, that wasn't new. He was pale, but that was probably the cause of bad eating habits and lack of exercise. His mouth was set in a tight line, which wasn't too much of a surprise. Danny had always been rather serious at times and he was in a bad mood today anyway.

The really odd thing, the thing that had been bothering Tucker these past years, was Danny's expression. His eyes. His tone. His posture. Something overall had changed. Drastically. It was almost like sitting next to a stranger sometimes. He always thought the whole thing with his parents had caused him to be more distant than he already was but, there just had to be something else. "Sorry. I'll stop prying into your life now, Mr. Alien." He forced a laugh and turned back to the technology in his hand.

He ended up kissing the screen of his PDA after a swift knock to the head from his newly-dubbed alien friend. "Hey! Watch the hat!" Tucker shouted.

"Um, Tucker?"

The aforementioned boy slowly looked up at the girl standing in front of him. "V-V-Valerie?" he stuttered, barely able to keep himself from turning bright red. "W-what's up?"

"Um, I was just wondering if I could sit next to Danny?" She blinked flirtatiously, leaning closer to his desk.

"U-uh… U-umm… I, uh—"

"No."

Tucker snapped his head to the side to see Danny, arms folded across his chest, glaring at the girl who'd deigned to come near his desk. His blue eyes were filled with disgust.

"W-what?" Valerie flushed.

The raven-haired male leaned forward, forcing the full weight of his gaze on her. "I said you're not sitting here. Leave."

The girl turned on her heel and scurried to the back of the classroom, tripping over someone's foot in the process. "Watch it!" she mumbled before sitting down.

Danny heard a quiet laugh coming from the back of the room. His head swung around to face the owner of the voice but he was met with a tangle of black hair instead. The girl had her head down. His gaze swept over her—scrawny arms and legs, clothed entirely in black with fishnet stockings and ankle-high boots, nails short and painted a dark purple—typical loner-goth girl. But she didn't have the attitude to go with it. Her head was down. She was hiding her face, her eyes. He wanted to see her face. He opened his mouth, about to demand that she look at him, when he was rudely interrupted by the reality of high school.

"Mr. Fenton! The test has begun! Get started!" the teacher ordered, slapping his ruler against the desk.

Danny snarled and snatched a pencil off of Tucker's desk. "Don't ever call me that again, mortal fool," he hissed.

If Tucker heard anything, he pretended not to notice.

* * *

"Everyone put your pencils down and bring up your tests."

"The moron," Danny muttered. "He never taught us this."

"Yeah, he did." Tucker whispered back, already having brought his test up since he was the first one done. "You weren't paying attention."

Danny glared at him. "Do something useful. Bring this up for me." He handed his test to Tuck as he leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head.

"I'm not your maid. I mean, your servant. Oh, whatever. Did you even answer any of the questions?" he asked after bringing up the test.

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Fifteen."

"There were fifteen questions altogether."

"Then I have a chance at passing," he retorted, knowing full well that he had passed. After all he had copied off of Tucker's test.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Danny hefted his backpack onto his shoulder and made his way to the door without bothering to wait for Tucker. He was pushing his way through the crowd of students in the hallway when he was stopped by a voice that was becoming increasingly annoying.

"Mr. Fenton. A minute please," Mr. Lancer asked.

Danny looked up at him. His anger flared. He should just blast this pathetic sack of meat through the wall. But people were watching him. It wouldn't do any good to blow his secret for someone not even worth a second glance. No, for someone not even worth a glance in the first place. He laughed humorlessly and headed for the classroom he'd thought he'd just escaped from. "Sure, whatever." But don't call me that name again if you value your life.

"Thank you."

Danny nearly collided into the black-haired girl as he barged into the room. She jumped back, clutching her books to her chest. Her eyes met his. They were a fierce shade of violet. He stared, taken aback by the vibrant color. He'd thought his ghostly green eyes to be rather odd. She had him beat there.

Her mouth tightened and she narrowed her eyes, hiding their vibrancy, which only served to piss him off. "You could say excuse me," she said gruffly, averting her gaze to the floor.

"Look at me," he snapped.

She jumped a little, her head moving to face him. Her eyes widened.

"That's better," he said, not looking away from her eyes. There was something about them that intrigued him.

Mr. Lancer took that moment to grab Danny's shoulder and usher him into the room. "Good day, Miss Manson. We have some things to discuss," he said. "Close the door on your way out." He could feel ice blue eyes glaring at him as he sat down at his desk. He wasn't one to be intimidated though. "I've been informed you think it's okay to copy off other students' papers."

Danny crossed his arms, staying silent for a moment. If cheating was all this was about then he was wasting his time here. He will continue to cheat for the rest of eternity and there was nothing any teacher could do to stop him. What he wanted to discuss was the background behind the girl with purple eyes. "You interrupted me, _sir. _What is that girl's name?"

"That is none of your concern. What is your concern is the fact that you will fail your senior year if you continue to plagiarize—"

"I don't care. What I care about is having my question answered. Who. Is. That. Girl."

"Why don't you try talking to her? That's usually how you get to know people, and also how problems are resolved."

Danny stood up immediately and started heading for the door.

"Mr. Fenton! You come back here and sit down!"

He whirled around with a sneer on his face. "No," he hissed. The man in front of him froze. "Good day, Mr. Lancer."

"Danny!"

The sound of that name from an adult's lips made the boy pause. A rush of memories assaulted him. He closed his eyes against them. How dare that fool bring them to the surface so lightly. He should be punished for his stupidity.

"I know life hasn't been kind to you," Mr. Lancer said quietly. "And I'm sorry about that. I know your family's mysterious disappearance has been hard for you to cope with, but it's no excuse for giving up on your studies. You have to work hard and make a future for yourself. Then you can find your family and reunite with them—"

"HA!" Danny's eyes flew open. He spun on his heel and fixed his gaze on the man. He approached Mr. Lancer slowly, stalking, hunting, ready to kill. With each step closer he took, that bubbling anger inside him grew closer and closer to the surface. His hands grew cold. His eyes started to burn. "Is that what you think?" His voice was a low rumble, thunder in the empty room. "That I'm some poor, pathetic little homeless child desperate to see his mommy and daddy again after they abandoned him without a word? That I'm acting out because I'm depressed and lonely and hurt? You think I need to see a doctor, a shrink? Hmm? Is that it, sir?" he spat in Mr. Lancer's face. He towered over the man, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight with rage. "Is it?"

"That's not what I said—"

"But what did you MEAN?" he roared, slamming his fist down on the desk. "Huh? Tell me, _sir_!"

Mr. Lancer gulped. Danny's eyes weighed down on him, glowing an odd shade of blue-green. Mr. Lancer averted his gaze to the chalkboard at his side and loosened his tie. "I think you should go home for the day, Mr. Fenton—"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Danny yelled.

Sweat beaded on Mr. Lancer's forehead. He wiped at it nervously, fingers trembling, and pushed his chair back, desperate to get away. He watched the floor and didn't look up. He refused to look up. This was beyond his control. He had done all he could. "Daniel," he murmured. "Go home."

There was a growl, then stomping footsteps, and the slam of the classroom door.

Mr. Lancer let out a shaky sigh and slumped down in his chair. God help the poor boy because he wiped his hands clean of him.

As soon as Danny walked out of the room, he came face to face with those violet eyes. He paused—surprised, annoyed, and a little pleased. The girl was leaning against a locker with her arms crossed. She watched him silently, looking him up and down as if he was some alien species she'd only recently discovered. Not one to miss an opportunity, he examined her as well. While she was on the scrawny side, she had some muscle and looked to be quite healthy. She didn't have his deathly pallor. But she did have his mouth, always tightened into that damnable thin line. He wanted her to show him something more than a mirror image of himself.

Her eyes met his again for a brief second before straightened and turned to leave.

If he had been in any other mood he would have stopped her out of sheer curiosity. But he was in this particular mood and all he wanted to do was bring about some chaos in order to have peace.

Danny quickly made his way down the hall. The double doors of freedom were in sight. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when a bulky chest collided with him and sent him stumbling backwards.

"Watch where you're going, Fenturd," Dash jeered. He barely looked down at Danny, but he still reveled in that inch and used it as best he could to make himself appear intimidating. Behind him was his usual cluster of mentally-challenged football jocks.

Danny felt his body temperature cool. He clenched his hands into fists. "Get out of my way," he said impassively.

"I'm sorry. What was that, Fentino?" the idiot said mockingly, curling his hand around his ear.

The air grew icy around him. His breathing heightened and he grabbed the idiot boy's collar. "Get out of my way or I'll kill you."

Dash's eyes wavered in fear. A broken laugh came out of his throat. "Yeah. Right. Okay. You can't do that. Little baby Fenton can't do anything with his big sister—"

Danny let out an animalistic cry and hurled Dash aside, a feat that should not have been humanly possible. Dash's friends gaped at him, then Dash let out a whimper and a shrill cry and they rushed to his side.

"I warned you," Danny hissed. "Pathetic mortal."

"D-Danny?"

Ice blue eyes snapped towards Tucker, who stood just by the exit. "What did you just…?" Frightened, he looked to Dash's crumpled-up form, then back to Danny. "Why…? What's wrong with you?" He started to come closer.

Danny frowned. "Stay away."

"But I'm your friend."

"Go away!" he roared, punching a nearby locker to keep Tucker from coming any closer.

"...What's wrong with you?"

The situation hit him on full force as he heard his only friend mumble aloud. His own words felt like fire in his eyes. Danny ran out the front doors disappearing from sight. He ran into an alley, discarding his human form along the way. He jumped up into the sky as Phantom and raced toward his apartment building. Stupid school, stupid teachers, stupid girl, stupid jocks, stupid friends. They all just needed to leave him alone!

He fazed into his room and began pacing. But it wasn't enough. He took to tearing apart his room. Throwing furniture, breaking walls, ripping apart and blasting the utility systems until the whole building lost power. Not enough. It was never enough. He wanted more. He deserved more. He sat down in the middle of his ripped-up, torn-apart, burnt couch and clutched his head in his hands. Violently, he rocked back and forth.

"Humans. Humans. Humans. Humans. Humans. Every last one of them. I HATE THEM ALL!"

The otherworldly wail burst from his throat again. The building trembled and shook around him. Pipes running along the walls broke apart in explosions of water. The ceiling caved in and crumbled. The floor sunk and fell. He hovered in the middle of it all, invisible, untouchable. He, the source of it all stayed there until the whole building collapsed. He heard the screams in their disjointed chorus and listened to it all, breathing slowly in and out with a smile on his face.

* * *

"Public Enemy #1, Phantom, once again created mass destruction in Amity Park. This time his only target was an apartment building directly adjacent to the site of last night's attack. The building collapsed and is now being cleared for reconstruction. Although it is purely conjecture, it is believed there may have been a reason behind Phantom leaving it untouched last night, then destroying the building the following day. Rumors of a new individual victim of Phantom's aggression have begun to spread—"

Danny turned off the television and leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. He hated this house, the house of his old life. But it was all he had now until he found a new apartment. He didn't want to stay here. It brought back all those memories he didn't want to face.

**Riiiing. Riiiing. Riiiing. Riiiing. Riiiing.**

Suppressing his will to destroy the infuriating thing, he glanced at the phone with a growl before quickly snatching it into his hands and yelling into the receiver. "What?!" He hated phones.

"...Danny?"

His heartbeat steadied, as did his temper and his tone. "Tucker."

"Are you…okay? I heard about your apartment."

"I'm fine." He kept his tone steady, although he really just wanted to laugh. As if he, of all the beings in that shabby building, would have been harmed. That was idiocy.

"Oh, well, that's good."

Silence followed. Danny wasn't inclined to say anything. He was still reveling in that momentary peace before the haunted memories of this accursed place brought the anger back into his system.

Tucker spoke up again. "But I'm still worried," he said pointedly. How strange of him to get straight to the point. He must be changing as well. But humans change three years too slow.

"About?" Danny sighed. The conversation was boring him.

"Well, you. You've been acting so...odd."

"Hmph. I thought you said I've been like that for two years, Tuck," he retorted. His eyes softened a bit at the sound of that name and he relaxed into the couch.

"I'm serious. I'm worried."

Another sigh came from Danny's lips. "Don't be. I'm fine. You just need sleep. You stay up too late with those gadgets. Are you going to marry them?"

"Hey! That's gross! And I do not!"

"Sure you don't." Danny chuckled softly and ended the call.

**Click.**

With the dial tone buzzing in his ear, Tucker heaved a sigh. "You don't ever say goodbye anymore either."


	4. The Pursuit

Chapter Three Revised

_The Pursuit_

Danny awoke with a painful ache in his neck and shoulders. Groaning, he pushed himself up and glanced around at bare walls, dust, cobwebs, and empty picture frames. His refusal to sleep in his old room had left him with a night of tossing and turning on the couch. That room… He shuddered and threw a musty afghan over his shoulders. That room was better left untouched.

He shuffled bare feet across the cold floor, slowly making his way up the creaky stairs and down the hall to a room he could handle, a room that didn't hold many memories. After all, there weren't many times he had gone into his parents' room. All he had to do was avoid looking at the bed, the dresser, the bare closet once filled with equipment and hazmat suits.

Danny cleaned up in the washroom, taking care not to glance in the dusty mirror above the sink. He hated his human face.

He shuffled out into the hall again and fazed through a section of the wall he knew would lead to his room. He felt blindly for his dresser, then a pair of clothes, and brought them out into the hall. He didn't look at the clothing, just slipped it on, and walked downstairs again.

After his attack last night and the night before, the police would be on edge, guarding any place they suspected would be his next target. And they were probably interrogating the residents of his newly-destroyed apartment building, trying to discover if one of them had been specifically targeted for his pleasure. That meant it would be better for Phantom to lay low today, in order to continue playing his game later. But after Danny's discussion with Mr. Lancer, it wasn't like he could go to school either. He'd be sent straight to the principal, or worse, the counselor.

All in all, he was in for a spectacularly boring day. And he had woken up so early due to sleeping in the afternoon. What was he to do with his time?

Danny fell back onto the couch with a sigh and frowned. He wanted to play a game. But who would be his opponent?

Light drifted into the room through tattered window curtains. The sky was bright in hues of yellow, orange, and pink. It was such a contrast to the deep blues and purples of the night, which he preferred.

"Purple," he murmured aloud. Purple. Violet. Bright violet eyes.

His thoughts turned to the mysterious girl. She hadn't been waiting for him. She hadn't been waiting for Mr. Lancer either. So what was she doing, hanging around the classroom? Had she been worried?

A laugh escaped his throat. Worried that he'd hurt Mr. Lancer? She had some confidence if she thought she could've stopped him had he decided to do anything. But he knew she didn't. She may have tried to dress a certain way to give off the impression of strength and confidence, but he knew she was anything but. There was no pride in her eyes.

There was anger.

He knew what he was going to do today.

* * *

One missed alarm, two burnt pieces of toast, one outfit change, and one missed bus later found Samantha Manson in a mad dash for at least her fifth-period class. She hated mornings. She hated waking up early. She hated school. She hated the bus driver who refused to wait for her as she'd been sprinting for the bus stop. And she hated that she'd worn a baggy long sleeve shirt because it was making her break a sweat and she wasn't in danger of missing P.E. class.

But, in the universe's defense, she had been the one to stay up late watching the latest news of Phantom's attack, groggily turn off her alarm three hours after she'd gone to bed and proceed to sleep well past her second class.

"Oh, thank god," she said aloud when the high school building came into sight.

She picked up speed, intent on making it time for the next class. As she was running, an icy breeze hit her face, causing her to squint. She staggered to a stop, panting, and looking around in confusion. It wasn't winter. So where did that random wind come from? It had felt almost like someone's breath.

Sam shrugged it off and continued on her way. There was no time to wonder. Besides, it was probably just her imagination.

She had made it just in time for fifth period math. Silently, she took her seat at the back of the class, rummaged in her backpack for her notebook, opened it up on her desk, and robotically copied down notes from the lecture.

Despite being on the brink of sweating early, it was unnaturally chilly in the room. She shivered and brought the sleeves of her shirt down over her free hand. Maybe she was close to her monthly week of torture? But that couldn't be right. The temperature change was never this bad and it had just passed a week ago.

As another shiver ran up her spine, she scoffed and tucked her hand underneath her thigh. "This is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath.

Someone chuckled off to her side.

Sam turned quickly and glared at the boy sitting in the desk next to her. He kept his head down and was fidgeting with a PDA underneath his desk. Sam immediately looked away. He must have been laughing at something he saw on his PDA. Of course. It wouldn't have made sense if he'd been laughing at her. It's not like he had control of the heating system in this place. Then again, he did look like the type to be a hacker.

Oh well. It had nothing to do with her.

* * *

He followed her around school for the entire day. Beginning from the time she'd been running to the front doors. He'd had to fight the urge to burst into laughter after he blew on her face and watched her stunned reaction. He'd been standing right in front of her the entire time, invisible to her violet eyes.

Watching her proved to be quite informative. She was smart, this one. After robotically copying notes and half-listening to lectures, she was able to understand and piece together formulas and concepts all on her own and finish her work quickly. She had an analytical mind, much like Tucker. However, she paled on subjects that he himself excelled at. Rote memorization was not her strong point. She needed a significant meaning attached to something or she needed to understand its purpose in order to memorize it. Simply knowing dates and names and places was difficult for her. She could explain the details of a battle, its significance, what it changed, what it created, what caused it, but she couldn't tell you the people involved or the dates or the name of the battle or the laws associated with it.

In short, she was a step above most of the humans here. She could easily make a future for herself.

Pity she had got his attention. All that was meaningless now. She was part of his game.

What annoyed him was that he still hadn't found out her name. That, and how other girls treated her.

Phantom found himself angry for the first time for something involving someone besides himself and his missing family. Paullina, a girl he had adored once when he was just a foolish human boy with foolish human feelings, caught sight of the violet-eyed girl dozing off on her desk. Grinning to her friends, she had taken the gum she was chewing out of her mouth and flicked it over to the girl. The vile piece of man-made garbage landed in the girl's black hair.

Phantom's anger flared. His arms trembled with the urge to eradicate the imbecile who would dare to do such a thing to someone he'd been targeting. The girl was his to play with! Only his!

The girl shook herself awake, probably feeling the change in temperature. Yawning, she scratched her head absently, pausing when she felt the offending wad of gum in her hair. She muttered a curse and began pulling at it constantly, earning herself amused looks from Paullina and her gang. "Just my luck," she mumbled and slammed her head down on the desk.

"Miss Manson!" the teacher cried.

"Sorry," she replied.

"Stop interrupting the class and get your head up."

"Okay," she said, placing her hand over the pink wad entangled in her messy locks.

"Stupid girl. Move your hand so I can take it out," Phantom whispered, leaning over her to try to catch a glimpse of the wad and see how bad it had been entangled.

The girl stiffened and glanced over her shoulder. Seeing nothing, she turned back to the front of the class, keeping her hand over her hair.

She kept it there for the rest of the class, further annoying him. So he plotted different ways of ruining Paullina's life instead. When the class was finally over and Phantom was beginning to think he would have to follow Paullina home to deal out some well-deserved punishment, the girl altered his plans by going straight up to Paullina and demanding she pay for a haircut.

"If you're the reason I have to cut my hair, then you should be the one to pay for it," the girl said bluntly.

The next few words out of Paullina's mouth saved her life. "Oh please, _Samantha_. It was an accident." But just barely.

The girl, Samantha, crossed her arms. "It's Sam. And you owe me at least ten dollars."

Paullina gave off a dramatic sigh and examined her nails. "I'm not giving you anything."

"Ten dollars. Tomorrow. Thank you and goodbye." Sam left the classroom quickly, not giving Paullina a chance to say anything else.

Phantom waited for Sam to leave before he approached the over-confident brunette. He snapped his fingers and green flames burst to life in his palm. Paullina jumped and stared, terrified, into the flames. Her friends backed away from her, trembling and shrieking. "Ghost! Ghost!"

Paullina stayed frozen in her seat. "Who's there?" she said in a pathetic voice, attempting to sound as if she were still in control. As if she could make him do anything she willed. Him, Phantom. She was lucky she was still breathing. And she was shaking like a frightened baby anyway.

Phantom chuckled at her pitiful display and willed the flames to disappear. His grin faded and he glared at her. "Don't do that again," he hissed. His voice echoed loudly in the room, but his body remained hidden from their sight.

Paullina shivered. "D-do what?" she asked, but nothing else was said. Her breath left her in one long sigh and she collapsed, unconscious, in her chair.

Phantom smiled and went off to search for his new playmate. Samantha. Sam. "Sammy."

* * *

He stepped into the cafeteria with a small, unnoticeable smirk. His ice blue eyes locked onto a familiar pink wad surrounded by silky black hair. He'd found her already. She was sitting alone at a table in the corner of the room, resting her head on her tiny wrist, as she slowly ate the most disgusting sandwich he had ever seen. She ignored and was ignored by the rest of the students waiting for the bus to arrive.

Danny felt a small nudge from behind and held back a growl. He did not want to be interrupted now by Mr. Lancer or the principal or the counselor or whoever dared to _touch_ him when he was busy. "What?" he snarled as he whirled around to meet the offender.

Tucker met his snarl with a weak grin. "Uh, hi. I didn't realize you came to school today."

Danny sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "You need to work on your timing," he grumbled, once again turning to fix his eyes on the pink spot.

Tucker peeked over the male's broad shoulders. "What are you staring at? Are they actually serving something good today during the after school program? That would be rare."

"…Go find out," he said gently as he grabbed his friend's shoulders and pushed him into the short line of students waiting to be served.

Tucker blinked and strained his neck to look back. "Danny?"

He wasn't going to be able to watch her and keep Tucker occupied at the same time. He would have to distract Tucker and send him on his merry way before he could focus on the girl. "You'll lose your place in line," he said, slipping ahead of Tucker and grabbing a pre-wrapped sandwich.

"Hey! That was rude," Tucker whined, grabbing a sandwich of his own. "Someone's got issues."

"At least I'm not marrying my PDA."

"Shut up. You don't even own a PDA," Tucker frowned. They paid for their meal and headed towards an empty table. Tucker cleared his throat awkwardly as they sat down. "So, uh, where are you staying now?"

"None of your business," Danny said around a mouthful of his sandwich.

Tucker frowned again. "Sorry. I was just going to say you could stay with me. My parents already agreed."

Danny swallowed and avoided Tucker's miserable expression by turning his head to the girl's table. "It's okay. I'm…staying at my old house." He had to force the words out of his throat. Once he had, he couldn't stop. "That's the benefit of having a missing family. Taxes go to keep the house intact for the one left behind. Almost like it's an orphanage."

"They're doing that in case your family comes back—"

"They're not coming back!" Danny shouted. The whole room grew silent around them. Instinctively, he glanced toward the girl's table. She was staring at him, along with everyone else in the cafeteria. He ran his fingers through his hair, took a deep breath, and then sighed. "They're not. So stop saying that. Everyone needs to stop saying that."

Tucker lowered his head and pulled his red hat down further to shield his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Danny looked at him, but found he couldn't do it for long. It was too…painful. It brought back those memories he didn't want to face. "Me too," he whispered.

They finished their light meal in silence. Danny kept sneaking glances at the girl to distract himself and Tucker kept sneaking glances at the person his best friend had become.

"Well, I should get going," Tucker said, crumpling up his garbage in his hand. "I have to clean the house when I get home."

Danny spared him a glance, just to make sure Tucker wouldn't get the wrong idea about his recent behavior. But his friend's downcast face made his heart clench painfully in his chest. He looked away quickly. "See you," he said.

Tucker's shoulders drooped and he scuffed his foot on the floor. "Yeah. See you." Half-hearted _see you_'s seemed like such a pathetic way to say goodbye among friends, let alone people who were supposed to be best friends. But Danny's personality change had a cause, and Tucker knew what it was. He also knew that there was nothing he could do to help. He would just have to be patient and wait for Danny to realize that he still had a friend, a family, in him. To all intents and purposes, Danny was his brother. Danny just had to come to his senses and figure that out for himself.

Just to prove his good intentions, Tucker reached over and grabbed Danny's trash as well. This caught the black-haired male's attention. "Talk to you later, all right?" Tucker said, smiling.

Danny's eyes widened marginally. "Yeah," he said.

Tucker's smile widened. Danny watched him as he left the cafeteria, then turned back to the current subject of his attention. Sam.

He stood and moved behind her so that he could make his approach without risk of her looking up and spotting him. Stepping behind her chair, he realized she had dozed off again.

He leaned over her, much as he did in his ghost form when he followed her to all of her classes. She squirmed a bit, mumbling incoherently, before shifting back to her previous state. His ice blue eyes snapped toward her, falling right on the gum still embedded in her hair. Shaking his head, he began to gently pull at the wad, his other hand holding her down in case she started to feel pain. "You really should have taken this out earlier," he said, amused by her blatant disregard for something that would have humiliated most girls. He leaned closer, purposely pressing his leg against her exposed back between the metal rungs of the chair.

Sam let out a moan and rubbed her cheek against her arms. Her eyelids fluttered open. "Hm?" She slowly brought herself upright.

"Good afternoon," a deep, oddly familiar, voice whispered from behind.

Still not fully awake yet, she didn't quite process the fact that someone was talking to her or, more so, _who_ was talking to her. "I wonder…how long I've been sleeping." Sam mumbled. She yawned, stretching her arms over her head. "At least I feel better now."

"Samantha." Danny smirked as he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrists. "Are you ignoring me?"

The girl tore her arms away from his grasp and strained her back to face cold blue eyes. A chill swept down her spine and she knew she couldn't look at him any longer. Rubbing her hand as though she'd been burned, she slowly shifted the direction of her violet orbs to his outstretched hand. Lying in his palm was the pink wad of gum.

"A thank you would be adequate," he shrugged. A hint of green flashed in his eyes as he watched the emotions play out across her face. Confusion. Exhaustion. Surprise. Gratitude.

"…Thank you?" Sam murmured. She looked up at him curiously. "But why did you do that? We've never even met."

Danny just smiled. He tossed the gum over his shoulder, half-hoping it would land in someone else's hair, and evaded her question with one of his own. "Mind if I sit with you?"

Her eyebrow rose and he found himself the subject of her scrutinizing stare. "You will whether I say yes or no."

"Ah, so you do know me." His smile widened. The weight of her stare followed him even as he moved to plant himself in the chair across from her. "And I know you too." He leaned back, arms crossed behind his raven hair. "You're incredibly smart. And you're also a bit of a klutz." If her performance in P.E. was any indication.

"Am not," she huffed, a light pink rising into her cheeks. "I didn't get much sleep last night-"

"I can see that."

"And when that happens I don't have much-"

"Coordination. I get it."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're beginning to irritate me."

"You're beginning to intrigue me, _Samantha_."

"It's Sam!" she snapped automatically. Then a thought crossed her mind as the last of her drowsiness faded away. "Wait, how did you even know my name?"

He smirked and brought his arms to the table. "Finally noticed? Took you long enough."

"Are you going to answer me, Daniel?"

He eyed her curiously. "And how did _you _know _my_ name?"

Sam choked back the laugh that was so eager to burst out. She had to resort to covering her mouth with her hand to keep herself from being caught. Unfortunately for her, he wasn't one to miss what was going on around him. One of the positives of being half-dead. Supernatural senses.

After recovering from her bout of amusement, she met his stare evenly. "You're Daniel Fenton. Everyone knows about you. I'll bet people in Europe know about you. And that's why they're still in Europe."

Danny matched her impassive expression. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"At your expense, yes," she said with a smug grin on her face. "According to rumors, you have a bad attitude. And you're typically the one to start a fight. You also don't do homework, or exams for that matter, yet somehow you haven't been suspended. When you're reprimanded for your actions, you turn to violence or intimidation, which has led to a fear of you amongst the faculty and students."

He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head in a patronizing manner. "So you believe in rumors? I had taken you as the type to not judge people."

His statement caught her off guard. She fumbled for words. To stall, she brought her elbows up onto the table and rested her chin atop her intertwined fingers. "I'm not judging you," she said softly, glancing off to the side. "I've heard and I've made my own deductions after observing your personality firsthand." Her eyes lit up at some thought and she looked at him with that same smug grin. "Besides, taking me as the type not to judge people is the same as judging me yourself."

Appreciative of her witty conversation, seeing as this was the first he'd had in a long time since Tucker was as witty as he was funny, Danny smiled at her. Genuinely smiled. "Touché," he said. Then the smile was gone. "But you're still judging me, Samantha."

Sam's mouth puckered and her eyebrows drew together in a look of frustration. "It's Sam."

He waved the comment away dismissively and leaned back in the chair. "Too boyish and juvenile."

"Call me Sam or call me nothing at all."

"Nothing at all is too long of a name."

Her eye twitched. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

His smirk returned and his eyes flashed with mischief. "How do you know that I know it?"

Another twitch. "I guess I'm still just holding out hope for humanity," Sam ground out behind a clenched jaw and a fake smile.

"You must still be tired then," Danny said. "Take another nap. The bus isn't here yet."

Sam took note of the mischievous gleam in his eyes and rolled her own in response. "You think I trust you? I refuse to give you the chance to do anything to me."

He laughed once and shook his head. "I'm hurt, Samantha."

"Good. You deserve it. Because my name is Sam."

Danny winced. "Ouch. I believe I've made a bad first impression. And to think, I could've left that gum in your hair. You obviously weren't sincere when you said thank you."

She stiffened and dropped her gaze to the table. "I was being sincere," she muttered gruffly.

"Then why so cold now?" he asked, leaning across the table to see her eyes.

A sigh escaped her lips. This would never end unless she gave in. "I'm sorry."

"What?" A tiny grin lifted a corner of his mouth. "What was that?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't judge you based on rumors. I was wrong."

Surprise softened the arrogant expression on his face but he quickly suppressed it. "You're just saying that. But, I accept."

She bit back a growl.

"I forgive you, _Sammy_," he whispered, his smirk returning, as he leaned closer to her across the table.

Sam grimaced before she moved away from him. The rumble of an oncoming bus reached her ears. She thanked her lucky stars up above that she was finally free from this hell of a day. She picked up her backpack, gathered up her trash, and stood up from the table. Looking down, she noticed Danny's eyes fixed on her.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

She scoffed. "Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity."

"I have my own apartment," she said absentmindedly. She really should have said nothing at all. The bus was right there. The other students were heading out the door. She should be going out with them.

"Which building and what room?" Danny asked, persistent in his pursuit.

Her jaw dropped and she looked at him in shock. "What are you, a stalker? I have my own apartment somewhere in Amity Park. You're lucky I even told you that much." She headed for the trash can and heard his chair scrape across the floor as he got up to follow her. "I'm leaving," she said forcefully.

Danny grabbed her wrist and yanked her back. "If you don't want me to follow you home on that bus, you'll answer my question."

She sighed angrily. "Just hurry up. And let me go." She jerked her wrist out of his hold and rubbed it as though it had been burned.

"Where are your parents?"

Again, he caught her off guard. Her parents. Now that was a great question. A question she really didn't want to answer or even think about at the moment. "Poland. Taiwan. I don't know. Somewhere," she said nonchalantly. "They might even be dead."

"What?" he gasped.

"This is none of your business," she said, looking him straight in the eye. "I answered your question. I'm leaving."

Danny watched her go, struck dumb by her blasé attitude concerning her missing parents. Had she been lying to him? No, she didn't seem the type to lie about something like that. Then again, they were on unsteady ground about the concept of judging. But even so, that seemed a bit of an extreme method of proving judging wrong. So…where exactly were her parents?

He shook himself out of his reverie. There was no point in wondering about it now. He'd said he wouldn't follow her home on the bus. That didn't mean he wouldn't follow her home while trailing the bus.


	5. Obstacle

Chapter Four Revised

_Obstacle_

Danny awoke that morning feeling better than he had in ages. The day before, he'd followed Sam to her apartment, watched her move about in her natural habitat, and had made a thorough investigation of her apartment while she'd been in the shower. The verdict was in—she was the most intriguing person he had ever come across.

Aside from the bare essentials, she kept few comforts in her living space. She had a television, a DVD player, a stereo, and also a treadmill tucked into one corner of the rather spacious living area. Her bedroom led to the bathroom. Directly across her bedroom was the living room. And to the side of the living room was the kitchen. Each room was rather messy with assorted items strewn across the counters, floors, tables, or chairs. She wasn't the messiest person he'd encountered. But she was not immaculate either. All this only proved what he knew already. She had an analytical mind. What he found messy, she saw as being in a perfectly logical place to suit her needs.

What really intrigued him was what he found snooping around in her drawers. Diaries filled with days happily spent with her family, soon turning to days being annoyed by her family, then days in complete solitude except when intruded upon by strangers or family friends or relatives, days spent all alone in a big empty house, finally leading to days spent in her apartment. With each successive turn in her life, the color of the diary changed. First pink, then red, then blue, then purple, then black. Her tone also changed, from exceedingly happy to depressingly impassive. And all this he surmised after just skimming through them quickly.

One entry, however, had been particularly intriguing. It had been from two days, the night he'd let loose his ghostly wail across Amity Park. She described the wreckage and spoke of some the individuals affected and how she'd actually helped them. Helped them, not only because she sympathized with their plight, but also as a way of _defying_ Phantom. How rich. As if she was the angelic good to counter his devilish evil. And here he'd thought she wasn't confident. How wrong he had been.

He'd also stumbled upon old family photos tucked away in an old shoebox. Sam's expression in those pictures grew darker and darker as she got older. Her parents, both of whom looked absolutely ridiculous with over-the-top hair and hideous clothes, looked happier and they seemed to veer farther away from their daughter. Neither one had her eyes either.

One picture, showing only her parents, was attached to a postcard of Hawaii. On the back was written a simple message: _Wish you were here! Business is good! Miss you lots! Mom & Dad._

Sam had finished her shower by then, much to his surprise. His sister had always… He shook the thought out of his head. He didn't want to think on these memories now.

He'd kept the postcard with him and returned the shoebox to its hiding place. She had come out in shorts and a sweatshirt, with her damp hair curling over her shoulders. Rather than stay, he had decided it would be best for him to leave. He wanted too much to appear before her and watch her reaction. But it wasn't the time now. He had to make his appearance better, more grand. He had to make his appearance unforgettable.

That left him here now, eager to get to school in order to see her again and find out all there was to know about Samantha Manson.

First, he would have to call Tucker.

* * *

"Hurry up, Danny! I don't want to be late!" Tucker cried over his shoulder. Despite his own brisk pace, his friend was still slowly ambling behind him.

When he took notice of Tucker's urgent expression, Danny slowed down even more. "It's your fault," he said, amusement brightening the look of intense concentration that had previously been on his face. "You wouldn't take the bus, even when I specifically asked. You should've appeased me, like a good friend."

Tucker practically beamed at the sound of that word. He laughed and shook his head. "If I did you would just push me on the bus first and then ditch school."

"I'm the one who called _you_ and woke _you_ up for school in the first place. Why would I ditch after that?"

"Because that's the kind of person you are," Tucker said dismissively.

"What's wrong with that?" he snapped. Maybe going to school hadn't been the best of ideas after all.

"Hmm. I. Don't. Know. Let. Me. Think," Tucker said in an overly-dramatic and robotic way. "There's…summer school! Another synonym for hell!" he said and once again picked up his pace to make it to the school building.

Danny merely rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Nobody can make me go to school during the summer. That's not a very good threat." Then he sighed. That wasn't true. If Sam went to summer school, he would follow her there.

Danny picked up his pace, half-jogging to catch up to the boy in front of him. "You know," he said slyly, "if you told me that you'd miss me, that would be a better threat."

"Huh?" As Tucker turned around to face him with a shocked expression on his face, Danny snatched the red cap off of Tucker's head and waved it around.

"Are you gonna miss me, Tuck? Huh? Will you miss me?" He laughed boisterously, all the while skillfully keeping the cap out of his friend's reach.

"No way!" Tucker elbowed Danny in the stomach—which didn't faze him, it only made him laugh all the more—and retrieved his beloved hat. "Ha! I win," Tucker said, sticking out his tongue and returning the hat to its rightful place on his head.

Danny feigned a hurt expression and gripped the front of his black T-shirt. "That hurt, Tuck. I'm wounded."

"Oh, shut up. That's what you get for being so bipolar all the time."

That struck a nerve with him. Danny glanced down at the sidewalk beneath his feet, forcing down the words that nearly escaped from his lips. What would Tucker think if he knew who this friend of his really was? What would he do if he realized the _monster_ they portrayed Phantom to be in the news was actually him? The outcome wouldn't be pleasant. It was better that Tucker didn't know the difference. After all, Phantom hated humans and that's exactly what he was.

A headache was beginning to form. Danny pinched the bridge of his nose and forced deep breaths in and out of his lungs.

"Danny?" Tucker watched him, feeling worried and a little bit guilty. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," he mumbled. "And things were starting to seem normal again too…"

"It's fine. I'm fine," Danny said shortly. "We'll be late. Come on."

Tucker didn't look convinced. Danny leaned closer and stared at his face until Tucker started to fidget beneath the intent gaze. "W-what? What's wrong?"

"You really would miss me," Danny murmured.

"H-huh?" His face turned red.

Danny smiled and grabbed his shoulder. "Tucker, I wish I could return your feelings, but I prefer the opposite gender."

Something in Tucker's brain just snapped. "WHAT?!" he shrieked.

Danny laughed and headed for the front doors of the school.

"Come back here, you—you—you pervert!" Tucker shouted, waving his fist in the air. He quickened his steps to catch up to his friend.

Danny gave him a look. "Pervert? Me? You must be mistaken."

Tucker stared at him, disgust curling his lips. A shudder ran up his spine. And he shook his head furiously, as if trying to dislodge unpleasant thoughts from his mind. "It would have been better if you had ditched school today," he grumbled.

Danny laughed again. They entered the school building and headed for their respective lockers, located next to each other near the cafeteria. "If I had ditched, I wouldn't be here to keep you company. I know you can't live without me. It's a shame you can't admit it."

Tucker's face flushed. "Will you quit it with that already?!"

"As you wish," he said, relenting, and putting an end to his pointless game. Getting a rise out of Tucker was simply too easy. But it was amusing and it helped prevent Tucker from brooding over his acclaimed bipolarity. He needed to be more cautious around Tucker. He needed to keep up his carefully constructed pretense of survival and sanity.

Danny shut his locker and scanned the hallway for any sign of violet eyes. She was the reason he was here now. If she didn't come, he would be forced to hunt her down.

His search did yield results. He found something purple, but it hadn't been what he was hoping for.

Principal Ishiyama in her usual purple skirt and blazer came to a stop before him. "Daniel Fenton," she said in a crisp, high voice. She was in commandeering mode. Straight-laced, uptight, arms crossed, face void of emotion. She meant business. "In my office, please."

Danny cocked an eyebrow up and matched her arms crossed, chin up position. "No _Mr. Fenton_? I see that oaf of a vice principal is doing his job."

Principal Ishiyama's eyes narrowed. While Mr. Lancer would've flown into a frenzy by that remark, she remained civil and composed. "Follow me," she said pointedly, choosing to ignore his comment.

"And if I don't want to?"

The woman placed her hands on her hips. "Then we'll have our discussion right here."

Danny smirked. She was good, this one. But nowhere near as interesting as Sam. "I see." He lowered his head in a bow and extended his hand toward her. "Lead the way, Ms. Ishiyama," he said courteously. He flashed a grin behind him at Tucker and turned to follow the woman down the hall.

Her office was the same as he remembered it. Three cushioned chairs lined up in a row across from her large desk. A laptop off to one side so she could see whoever it was she was speaking to. Pictures and certificates on the walls. A bookcase with every shelf filled.

He hated her office and its familiarity.

He plopped down onto the far right chair in the row and stared at her blankly. She didn't make any comment about him not sitting in the middle chair directly in front of her. She knew better.

"I'm sure you must know why I have asked you to come here," she began, resting her arms on her desk. He didn't say a word in response, so she continued. "Your behavior has progressively worsened. The day before was the final straw."

His eyes narrowed at those words. The anger bubbled in his chest. He gritted his teeth, clenched his hands into fists and remained silent.

"We have given you so many chances. _I_ have given you so many chances. And you've disappointed me time and time again." Her cool resolve faltered and she broke away from his unwavering gaze.

That was her first mistake.

"If you're going to suspend me, you should look me in the eye when you do it," he hissed. "Or else I'm going to keep coming here to spite you."

The woman looked up at him, mildly surprised, but making an effort to hide it. "You're suspended." Her brown eyes were sad, bright with unshed tears, as though she had actually cared. What a lie. What a joke. She didn't care for him. Platitudes and second chances weren't enough to be considered caring. No, what she was doing was getting rid of him to appease Mr. Lancer and the rest of the teachers who were tired of dealing with him. Sacrifice one for the lives of many. That was the motto the citizens of Amity Park lived for, the one they exemplified in their every action.

Pathetic. Disgusting. He hated them.

"You just had to tell me this today," he sneered. "For how long?"

"That will be up to your psychiatrist."

His eyes widened. "You're forcing me to go to a psychiatrist?"

"It's what's best for you."

He jumped out of the chair and slammed his hands down on the desk, leaning over her. The anger rose to his throat, burned in the back of his eyes, made his arms tremble. "_I_ decide what's best for me."

Ms. Ishiyama leaned back in her chair to look him straight in the eye. "You need help, Danny. You haven't been the same since your family's disappearance and you're not doing a very good job of taking care of yourself. You don't even live in your own house anymore. Do you realize what I did to make sure that house remained available to you?"

His breathing was becoming erratic. Coldness built from the pit of his stomach and spread to throughout his body. Growling, he spun away from her and those banal eyes. He held his head in his hand, fighting back the urge to unleash his anger, to make her lose that pathetic excuse for confidence and face the reality that she held no power over him. To make her see how insignificant she really was. How dare she decide the course of his life for him? How dare she bring up the family he wanted to pretend didn't exist?

"I won't go to a psychiatrist," he snarled.

"Danny—" Her voice was kinder, softer. It sickened him.

"You won't see me again."

"Danny!"

He slammed the door shut behind him.

The halls were empty, quiet. Everyone was in class. But inside his head, he heard the roar of his own thoughts. _How dare she? How dare she? How dare she?! _A cacophony of sound that fueled his rage.

But he couldn't give in here. He wanted to see her. He needed to see her. He refused to put an end to his game now. He refused to be the cause of any injuries. It would be a shame to damage such a valuable prize he hadn't had the chance of winning yet.

After dematerializing and making a search of the classrooms, he found her sitting at the back of an English class. She was wearing that fishnet stuff over her arms today, with a black and green tank top and black pants. The look didn't suit her in his mind. Even the sweatshirt look had been better, especially with that untamed hair of hers she had pulled back in that half-up half-down style. She would be much better off in soft lavender shades, wearing clothes that brought out her femininity. She could try to pass off as the unstoppable, unshakable, impervious-to-harm tomboy all she wanted. That didn't mean it was her true nature. She masked her true feelings, her faults, her mistakes. She was far from impervious to harm.

His game would be to destroy that self-constructed wall of hers and uncover the _real_ Samantha Manson.

Thanks to that no-good principal, his first course of action would be planning a way to spend more time with her. Destroyed the school was one option. But it held no satisfaction in it for him. He would have to destroy it on a day that she wasn't there, meaning no screams from the terrified people inside. And even if he managed to prevent her from going to school for one reason or another, if school was dismissed then Tucker would be free as well. As much as he liked Tucker, he didn't want his time with Sam to be interrupted.

No, he had to come up with something better. Then he'd have to execute his plan as soon as possible. Now that he had a new game to play, he couldn't take his mind off of her and those angry violet eyes.

* * *

Danny snuck into the cafeteria behind Mr. Lancer's back and zig-zagged his way to Sam's empty table all the way in the back of the room. She was staring dreamily out the window, eating another one of those odd-looking sandwiches. She didn't notice him until he blocked her view of the window to sit down beside her.

She jumped, nearly choked on her sandwich, and took a swig of water to force the food down her throat. "Are you trying to kill me?" she gasped, hand over her throat as if that would somehow help.

He grinned. "Good afternoon."

"Some afternoon," she scoffed, turned her head away from him. "My life literally flashed before my eyes," she mumbled and took another swig of water.

Danny let out a disappointed sigh. "That's a hyperbole, Samantha."

She looked at him again, brow raised quizzically. "Have you ever choked on a sandwich before?"

"No."

"Then how would you know?"

He shrugged. "Experience."

Surprise flashed across her face, but she masked it by narrowing her eyes and scowling. "My name is Sam, you know."

He grinned again. "No, it's not. That's your nickname. There's a difference," he pointed out.

Her eye twitched. He couldn't help but laugh at the sight. She was too amusing.

She lowered her head and started tearing her sandwich apart. "Just call me Sam," she grumbled.

"No. We're not friends, are we?"

"We aren't," she said firmly.

"Nicknames are reserved for friends, _Samantha_."

She looked stunned. Her cheeks turned red and she huffed like a child and glared at the table. Danny smiled triumphantly at his little victory. Indeed, the moniker she chose to go by was boyish. But that didn't mean he disliked it. He just wanted to call her by a name she usually denied anyone else from using. He wanted her to remember him as soon as she heard her that name, because he was the only one who tricked her into giving permission for him to use it.

He leaned over to try to see her face. She kept her head down, but he could see her irritated expression as she tore apart her sandwich.

"If I said the name Samantha reminded me of my parents, would you stop calling me that?"

That took him by surprise. He actually took a moment to think about it. "It _would_ be hypocritical of me," he mused, recalling how being called by his father's moniker was something he detested. "But I never claimed to be un-hypocritical."

She gave him a look. "That's not a word."

"I never claimed it was either."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. He followed the movement of her hands as she gathered up the tattered remains of her sandwich, packaged them up, and tossed them in her lunchbox. He hadn't even realized people still used lunchboxes nowadays. She was definitely an enigma. A paradox. From her ostentatious wardrobe, to her sarcastic and witty banter, to her heartfelt compassion for strangers, and finally to those eyes filled with anger.

At the thought of anger, he remembered what he had done previously before entering the cafeteria. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a ten dollar bill. He grabbed her hand, but she quickly yanked it away from him.

"What are you doing?" she said, glaring at him.

He glared back at her. "I was trying to give you something."

"You don't have to touch me to do that."

"I was trying to give it in a way that _doesn't_ look bad."

Confused, she looked at the bill in his hand. "What is that for?"

"From Paullina."

Sam's jaw dropped. She stared at the bill. "She actually compensated me for that? That doesn't sound like her," she murmured, shaking her head.

"Are you going to take it or not?" he asked. If she didn't take it, he'd just put it into her wallet without her noticing. Just as he'd taken the money out of Paullina's wallet earlier.

"No."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," he grumbled, none too pleased.

Sam merely shrugged and ran her fingers through her hair. "I didn't have to pay for a haircut, so there's reason to make her pay."

Danny scoffed and shoved the bill into his pocket again. "Then this is rightfully mine. Since I'm the one who saved your hair."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You'd better return that to her."

Danny smirked. "Or else?" he said, leaning closer to her, his face inches away from hers.

She blinked up at him, trying to come up with something to say, anything at all. Her face turned red. She growled and spun away from him again, resting her chin in her palm. "Nevermind."

He chuckled and mirrored her position, resting his chin in his palm. He stared at her, wondering what her relationship with her parents had been like. Wondering where they had gone and why they had left her all alone. Wondering why she refused to live in her parent's home and rented an apartment instead. Wondering why he was so captivated by someone who reminded him of himself one minute, than seemed like a unique new species the next.

"Samantha," he whispered, barely audible. He saw her shoulders tense up, but she still stared resolutely across the cafeteria. He wanted those eyes to be in front of him again.

"Danny!"

The sound of Tucker's voice made his jaw snap shut. He let out an angry sigh, ruffled his hair, and stared blankly at the boy as he came to the table with a wide grin on his face and a full tray in his hands.

Sam looked taken aback. She gaped at Tucker as if she'd never seen another human being before.

Tucker ignored it all, or just didn't notice. "You did skip class. I knew you would," he said, waggling his finger at Danny disapprovingly. "I can't believe it. You jerk." He plopped down in a chair next to Danny and immediately started gobbling down his hamburger.

"Did you miss me?" Danny smirked, shifting his gaze to the ceiling as he leaned back in his chair.

"Ugh. Stop talking about that," Tucker said with a shudder. "And who's this?" he asked, gesturing toward Sam with his hamburger.

Sam's shoulders shook and she made a gagging noise in the back of her throat. "Please chew with your mouth closed, you carnivorous animal."

Tucker froze. He stared at her questioningly. "Are you…vegetarian?"

"Ultra-recyclo-vegetarian," she said, crossing her arms.

Tucker groaned. "Oh, god. I don't think I can sit here."

"Me neither," Sam said. She grabbed her backpack and stood up. Danny's hand at her wrist stopped her.

"Sit," he said. "There's more to life than eating habits."

Sam and Tucker both stared each other down. It was Tucker who finally relented.

"Fine. I'm Tucker Foley. Nice to meet you."

"Sam. You're friends with him?" she asked, nodding her head towards Danny who was staring out the window.

"Yeah."

"Interesting."

Tucker grinned and stole a glance at the black-haired male. "We've been friends our whole lives."

"So you've lived here since birth?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Yeah. What about you?"

"I…moved around a lot."

"Military?"

"No. Just…parents who weren't content anywhere," she mumbled, lazily drawing designs on the table with her finger.

Tucker nodded in understanding and finished the last bite of his burger. He licked his fingers clean, earning a sharp look from Sam to which he merely smiled. "Your parents must've been rich though, to move just because they weren't content," he mused.

Sam's eyes narrowed. Her shoulders tensed again. "Not necessarily," she said.

Danny clenched his hands into fists. Tucker was going to ruin all his hard work. After getting her relatively comfortable around him, Tucker was bringing back all her defensiveness. He growled and the sound brought Sam's violet eyes to him.

"You don't like being ignored, do you?" she asked. Her face was carefully blank, but he heard the smugness in her tone.

"And you don't like being rich," he retorted.

"I never said that."

"So you are rich?" he grinned.

Her eyes widened. "I never said that either!"

Danny laughed and Tucker laughed along with him. Sam glowered down at the table. "Will you guys stop it already?" she grumbled. They didn't pay any attention to her.

A shadow fell over the table then, cutting the laughter short. Mr. Lancer was standing there in front of them. Danny muttered a curse.

"Something here does not belong," Mr. Lancer said, looking pointedly at Danny. "And needs to leave right away."

Ignoring the stares Sam and Tucker were giving him, he stood up and fixed an icy glare at Mr. Lancer. "You're lucky," he said in a low, scathing tone. "Very lucky."

"Leave. Now," Mr. Lancer said, unperturbed now by Danny's menacing behavior.

"Wait, what's going on?" Tucker asked, looking from Danny to Mr. Lancer in confusion.

"Mr. Fen-Foley," the teacher said, quickly correcting himself. "Your friend has been suspended."

The word hung in the air around them. Some of the students at the nearby tables stopped their conversations to listen in on what was going on. Danny gritted his teeth, fighting back the rage. He needed to get out of here. Before he gave in. Before he stopped trying to be the hero. Before he stopped trying to protect everyone. Before he finally gave every single disgusting human all that they deserved.

He turned and walked out of the cafeteria without a backward glance. What they saw as pride and a bad attitude was just him preventing disaster once again only to get stabbed in the back in return.


	6. Warning

Chapter Five

_Warning_

Sam lay on her mattress, bundled underneath three layers of covers with a mug of hot chocolate on the bureau next to her, and wondered just how her life had strayed down this path of erratic chills and wandering thoughts. It was such a strange thing really. How easily the most drastic changes occurred in her life, as if the world was righting some catastrophic wrong. The loss of her parents. The move away from home—the house she had called her home anyway—with little more than a suitcase of empty memories. And now this.

Tuesday had been the beginning of the latest change. It had been the first day she'd felt the chills. She hadn't thought much of it then, figuring it was just a trick of the mind, the sign of an overactive imagination or some nonsense like that.

Tuesday had also been the day she'd officially met Daniel Fenton. Unlike the many rumors she had heard ravaging throughout the school, he hadn't been quite as _irritable_ and _angry_ and _cruel_ as she'd imagined. He was obviously difficult to get along with, but she hadn't been scared for her life as some of the other students claimed. He hadn't looked _enraged_ or _furious_ or _destructive_. True, he had a bit of hotheadedness in him and was pretty demanding. Yes, he did seem to use intimidation as a method of attaining the things he wanted. But he wasn't some criminal in training. He was just…a boy.

But, going through that thought process only brought back the memory of Danny's _discussion_ with Mr. Lancer on Monday and caused her to reconsider her optimistic view of him. She had stayed by the classroom that day solely because of the rumors she'd heard about Danny. It wasn't exactly her finest moment, considering how she felt about judging a person before getting to know them, but she'd been worried about Mr. Lancer's safety. If Danny was such a volatile person, who could have known when he'd finally burst and resort to physical violence. She'd been wrong about that, thankfully. But she'd heard the way he spoke to someone older than him, who was supposed to be in charge of him, and who had a say in students' punishment for wrongdoings.

No respect. No humility. No remorse.

No dignity, really.

Sam knew about his situation—he led a life that mirrored her own—and she empathized with him. But that gave him no right to treat others that way.

And yet… That train of thought led to another.

On Wednesday, Danny had tried to give her the ten dollars she'd asked Paullina for after the bubble gum incident. She'd refused, of course, since he'd kindly taken the gum out of her hair for her, saving her the trip to the salon which she hated anyway. Again, she thought nothing of it after that. Until tonight at the supermarket, when she'd found a crisp new bill in her wallet. She hadn't been aware of her wallet's ten dollars interest rate. How had Danny put it there? It had to have been him. As much as she wracked her brain for an answer, she couldn't recall any time he'd been near her backpack.

Sam heaved a sigh and burrowed deeper underneath her covers. These thoughts would get her nowhere and the odd chill was annoying her. With the covers, it wasn't as bad. But she could still feel it on the exposed parts of her face. It wasn't like she had AC. The windows were closed. So what was wrong with her exactly? She'd have to schedule a doctor's appointment soon if it didn't go away.

Her phone vibrated by her ear. "Oh, man," she groaned, knowing that she'd have to expose her hands to the chill. She snatched the phone and threw the covers over her head quickly. She would check the phone underneath the covers and that was that.

Tucker had sent her a message. They'd sat together at lunch today—the action had not been initiated by her—and he'd convinced her to exchange numbers in case they wanted to _work on homework and stuff_ every now and then. He seemed nice enough so she'd had no grounds to refuse him, aside the fact that he was a diehard carnivore and had repulsively chewed on a hot dog as he was asking.

She opened up the message. It read: _Hey, it's me. Tucker. Want to meet up tomorrow after school to work on the extra credit assignment for math?_

Sam was tempted, very tempted, to say no. But after a minute of typing her rejection, reading it over, and erasing it, she finally given in. She _did_ want to finish the assignment before the weekend. Two brains were always better than one, right?

Tucker replied right away. _Great! We should be able to finish it after school before the bus comes. I think._

Sam felt a rush of cold air hit her left shoulder. Shivering, she slid farther away from cold and tucked the covers underneath her like a cocoon. This was getting weirder by the minute. She brought the phone back up to her face again, squinting at the neon light. She found the personal number of her doctor in her contact's list and dialed it.

"Hello?" came the familiar woman's voice on the other end.

Still shivering, though more from anxiety rather than cold, Sam grumbled, "I think something's wrong with me."

"What do you think is wrong?" her doctor asked, ever calm.

"I keep having these unusual chills. I'm under three blankets right now, but I still feel cold. But the windows are closed. There's no air conditioning. And I—" She took a deep breath. As she exhaled, her eyes grew wide. The shock nearly made her jump out of the blanket cocoon.

As she'd exhaled, she could have sworn she saw steam.

Sam's body broke out in a cold sweat. "This isn't natural," she whispered. "There was steam. It came from my mouth." She hugged herself and scooted further back on the mattress. "What's happening to me?"

The doctor remained silent. Sounds of computer keys clacking and papers being rifled through were all Sam heard. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the phone against her ear. In the back of her mind, she knew what was about to be said to her. In the back of her mind, she knew exactly what was going on. Yet the words that reached her ear still shocked her, dismayed her, frightened her.

"Do you want to know my honest opinion?"

Why couldn't her doctor be more like her parents? Tell wonderfully crafted lies to hide the miserable truth.

"Yes."

Why couldn't she be more like her parents? Be willing to listen to blatant lies and believe them wholeheartedly.

"Sam," the woman began. Sam could just imagine her fixing her glasses and leaning forward with the weight of her foreboding. "Your situation sounds similar to others, a particular group of people. These people, they all share the same…unfortunate circumstance." The woman paused there, as if waiting for Sam to respond. When she didn't, the doctor continued. "They were followed, stalked—whatever you wish to call it—by the ghost, Phantom."

Silence.

She had no words. Nothing at all. What was she to say to that?

So the doctor went on, "I want you to be careful. Don't do anything to anger him, if it is indeed him. It may not be. But in Amity Park that always seems to be the case, so I want you to be on your guard. More often than not, he gets bored of these people. There may even be more incidents than we know of, times when he didn't reveal himself. Let's hope that is the case for you."

Sam's fingers shook. She stared blankly through the darkness beneath her covers, too frightened to move. "So you're saying…" Her voice came out in a shallow rasp. She swallowed thickly, took a shaky breath, and tried again. "You're saying…right now…I'm not alone."

There was a pause and then, "Most likely."

A gasp broke out of Sam's throat. Her body curled up. It was the only way she could protect herself from a ghost who walked through walls, disappeared, and flied. Some protection. Some life.

For all she knew, Phantom was staring at her right now.

The thought sent shivers down her spine. She curled up even further, until her body ached. She didn't want to speak. She didn't want him to listen to her. She wanted him to go away. She wanted him to leave her alone.

"I can stay with you tonight," the woman said on the other end of the phone. "Or you can have one of your friends come over."

And have Phantom hurt them because of her? That was a terrible idea, albeit a tempting one. She didn't want to be alone. The feeling of being on display was downright terrifying. Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears, pounded in her skull, transformed into the sounds of Phantom walking about her room and made her whole body tremble. Even the sound of her own breathing scared her.

"Sam?" the woman asked.

Sam forced words out of her mouth. "I have to go." She hung up, hit the back button. The screen that popped up was her conversation with Tucker. Without thinking, she dialed his number.

"Hello?" He had a questioning tone when he answered, confused by her sudden call.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Umm, Sam? What's up?"

She was beginning to rethink her impulsive decision. She had nothing to talk about with him. They had only just met. But she wanted to talk to someone. To be distracted. To ignore the monsters under the bed, put a stop to her wild imagination, and just be at peace. "I just, uhh, wanted to talk. You know, get to know each other. I don't know." She felt stupid, but she continued on anyway. "I'm bored. I was hoping you'd entertain me."

"Uhh… Okay?" He laughed nervously. "I was actually watching this science fiction movie on TV. It's pretty wacky. Do you like sci-fi?"

She gripped the phone tightly in her hand. It was her lifeline. "Not really," she said.

"Oh." He sounded disappointed. "Well, I think it's interesting. You really should give sci-fi a chance. I think you'll find it's a much better movie genre than any of the others popular these days. And it's also more reliable. Sci-fi will always entertain and fascinate you with its ingenuity, or occasionally its lack of ingenuity. But either way, you'll rarely be bored."

"Tell me about it."

"About what?"

"The movie."

"Oh, right. Well…"

He started talking about it in detail, describing the characters, the back-story, the plot, and the conflict. He went through small periods of time when he was relatively quiet, making a comment here or there, before he explained the new part of the movie he'd just watched. She listened just for the sake of hearing his voice, not really paying attention to the information, never really noticing the warmth that steadily replaced the cold. It wasn't long before she dozed off with the sound of Tucker's voice rambling on in her ear.

* * *

Phantom soared through the night sky, staring straight ahead at the moon in front of him, but not really seeing it or the surrounding stars. He wasn't sure what he found more amusing—the doctor for thinking Sam wasn't worth his attention or Sam for using Tucker to prevent herself from going mad with fear. He shook his head, a tiny smile barely lifting the corners of his mouth. That girl was astounding.

Amusement soon wore off to irritation. A frown pulled down his lips and his brow furrowed.

Tucker had made his move, and his move was to befriend Sam. This proved troublesome now that Danny Fenton had been suspended from school. Sure, he could easily follow the girl around the school building using his invisibility. But that lacked a certain…physical connection. A connection which he craved.

He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to touch her. He wanted her to look at him, not through him. He wasn't satisfied with simply watching her. He wanted more. Being the shadow in her apartment—watching her cook, clean, eat, read, watch TV, and sleep—was not enough. The past day and a half had been far too long. The hours she'd been away at school this morning had been torturous. He'd been unable to follow her there, knowing his anger might consume him, knowing he might kill the principal for her actions yesterday. He'd driven himself to wit's end pacing Sam's apartment floor, waiting for her to come home. He'd read all her diaries. He'd explored all the cupboards and cabinets. He knew the apartment inside out.

Being her shadow, he'd planned on spending the night there a second time, but her phone call to Tucker had driven him away before he snapped her phone in half and revealed himself earlier than planned. There was something so…tormenting about her conversation with Tucker. If things had been different, she would have called him instead. He would have been the person she chose to rely on. He knew it.

He flew aimlessly through the sky, his lower half a vaporous tail behind him, and his hands clenched into fists in front of him. He debated amongst a multitude of options. He could go to Tucker's house for some minor pest control, go to the school for a more explosive method of pest control, go to his old house and plot a new course of action, or return to Sam's apartment and watch her sleep for the second time in a row.

The last option was highly tempting, but he chose the third instead. He couldn't wait much longer to reveal himself to her, especially now that she was on to him and would be on her guard. He would have to choose the most opportune moment, make it unforgettable. He would watch her from afar, give her a false sense of security, and then appear without warning to revel in her terror. It would be his greatest work of art, reducing the obstinate, two-faced stray to a broken mess of tears and screams and hate. Dragging the anger out of her. Forcing her to see herself as she really is.

His breath hitched at the thought of her lying crumpled on the ground, face wet, violet eyes scalding in the dark staring straight at him, lips pale and taut. Her eyes. So bright. Only getting brighter. Shifting color. From violet to green. From green to a bright crystal blue.

He shook the image from his mind and paused mid-flight, hovering in the air. Blue mist escaped from his lips. There was another ghost nearby.

Phantom spun around, following the trail of the mist. He scanned the night sky, finding nothing. He turned again, baffled and frustrated. He had spent the beginning of his career as Public Enemy Number One marking Amity Park as his territory and his alone. No other ghost was supposed to enter the borders set out by the Ghost Zone's prison warden Walker. A number of ghosts had experienced his wrath firsthand when they disregarded the borders. A beating from Phantom, followed by a stint as Walker's prisoner. Who would dare enter his domain now after all that? It had been years since then.

Phantom's emerald eyes flashed in the darkness. He opened his mouth, ready to call out the offender, but something moving below his feet stopped him. A hooded form rose in front of him, curling up as if it were a being growing from child to adult in the blink of an eye. The hooded figure didn't face him and looked up at the moon instead.

Phantom glared at the figure. The fists at his sides glowed green with ectoplasmic energy. He lifted his hand to blast the ghost out of his sight. But then the figure turned around to look at him with a coy smile on his face.

"I did receive permission, if that's what you're thinking."

Phantom's eyes widened. The ecto-energy coursing out of his palms fizzled and died. This ghost looked familiar. His hooded purple cloak. The gear pin on his right shoulder. The gloves lined with wristwatches. The two-pronged staff. The swinging pendulum clock in his chest. The scar on the side of his face. The long white beard. And those piercing red eyes.

As Phantom stared at him, the elderly ghost's hunched back straightened, his wrinkled blue face smoothed out, his beard shrunk and then simply vanished. "Who are you?" Phantom asked. The ghost's smile was beginning to annoy him.

The smile widened. "You're in need of an introduction?"

Phantom lifted his chin and brought his hand up to the ghost's face again, green energy pulsed around his fingers.

If the red-eyed ghost was anxious, he made no show of it. The expression on his face was one of boredom. "Fine. I am Clockwork." As he spoke his form shifted again, this time into one of a child. His voice retained the same deep timbre despite the change in his physical appearance. "But you've seen me before. Yes?"

Phantom's eyes narrowed. "Once. In the Ghost Zone." He remembered that day. He'd been wandering, exploring the other realms lying behind the multitude of doors in the Ghost Zone, mapping out its entirety in case he ever needed to return here. He'd happened upon a giant clocktower surrounded by huge spinning gears, and saw a ghost staring out at him from a window at the top of the tower. He would've investigated, but white-faced Walker had found him and asked him to identify some ghosts who'd entered Amity Park.

Phantom looked over the child-ghost in front of him and, deciding him to be no threat, drew back the ecto-energy and crossed his arms over his chest. "Your name is extremely unoriginal, Clockwork."

The hooded ghost smiled again. "And yours isn't?"

Phantom gritted his teeth. Why would Walker allow this ghost to come here? He must be here for some purpose, an unfortunate one most likely. Walker wasn't an ally, and he did everything in his power to interfere with Phantom's life and make it that much more difficult. The only reason Walker allowed him to own Amity Park and enforced the rule with the other ghosts was out of fear. Phantom hadn't gotten weaker since the last time he'd had to inflict any punishment on Walker. So what would possibly make Walker lose his fear of him?

Clockwork, shifting again into his elderly form, turned to face the moon. "I'm here on behalf of the Observants."

"Oh?" Phantom had heard of them. Though what they would want with him was a mystery.

"You know, they were quite disappointed when you forced your family away."

Phantom's shoulders stiffened.

Clockwork turned his head, red eyes meeting green. "They were hoping you'd choose to kill them instead. That timeline was truly emotional. The looks on their faces as you revealed your true nature to them…" He shook his head, as if ridding himself of the memory. "Your sister, in particular, suffered greatly. She tried to talk sense into you. What you did to her afterwards was quite cruel on your part even if she had been, in your opinion, _a conceited snob_."

Phantom glared at him, furious and shocked by his casual remark. Him? Kill his family? That was absurd. It didn't happen. It never would. This ghost was spouting nonsense.

Clockwork lifted his staff. His red eyes narrowed. "Would you care to see? The tattered remains of what was your family in that time? Before you tortured each and every one of them to their last breath?"

"I didn't," Phantom snarled, smacking Clockwork's staff aside. "And don't _ever_ talk about them," he hissed, energy flaring up around his body. He clenched his hands into fists, green flames bursting out around them. "Don't ever suggest that I would _kill_ them." The ecto-energy pulsed throughout his body, seeped from his pores, engulfed him.

Clockwork merely watched as Phantom was enveloped in green light. He transformed into his adult form as he did so. "For someone as hard-hearted as you try to be, you're awfully vulnerable to the thought of your family in pain," he said, causing Phantom's eyes to widen in anger and the energy to spark around him.

Clockwork waited, watching, until the very moment he knew Phantom would release the blast of ecto-energy. "Time out," he said.

Instantly, Phantom froze. His body felt so heavy, as if gravity weighed him down tenfold, as if he'd been encased in ice. He couldn't turn his head. Couldn't move his eyes. He could only stare in wonder as Clockwork lifted his staff and spun around quickly. A blue mist trailed behind his staff as he whirled around and he vanished into the mist. As he disappeared, the mist formed a clock face behind him. The clock hand spun to twelve o'clock before fading away too.

What in the world was happening?

Phantom struggled to move his body, to fight against the heavy weight that had settled upon him. Where had that ghost gone?

Abruptly, the heaviness vanished. Phantom's gasp at the feeling of freedom was swallowed up by his scream as the energy exploded around him in a burst of bright green light. He squeezed his eyes shut, his body growing limp after releasing that amount of energy all at once. Luckily, he was up high enough to avoid hitting the city.

After regaining his composure, Phantom whirled around angrily, searching for the hooded ghost. "Where are you?" he snarled.

"Up here."

Phantom's head snapped up at the sound of Clockwork's voice. He hovered far above him, in his child form, a tiny purple spot amidst the clouds. As soon as Phantom laid his eyes on him, Clockwork lifted his staff and flicked his wrist. Phantom felt his body moving of its own volition. His head snapped down. He whirled around in the opposite direction. The ecto-energy that had dissipated into the air reformed, zipped through the air, and engulfed him again.

Time was moving in reverse.

Just as he realized what was happening, time began moving normally. The energy exploded around him. He screamed and was left feeling more drained and exhausted than he had before. He glared up at Clockwork, but the ghost just flicked his wrist again. Phantom expelled all that energy for a third time.

Phantom fell forward, panting, and braced his hands on his knees. He was tired. Much too tired to deal with a pestering ghost who played with time. He was using enough strength just keeping himself hovering in the air.

Clockwork teleported in front of him, looking even more bored than before in his elderly form. "That wasn't nearly as entertaining as I thought it would be," he said stoically. "Although, I know everything." He leaned against his staff and regarded Phantom wearily. "All I'm here to do is talk."

"Then talk," Phantom snapped. "And then get out of here. This place belongs to me."

Clockwork shook his head. "Such a brash child. Indeed, your power is to be feared. But your emotions are so easily manipulated and will be used against you. You must learn to control them."

Phantom growled and looked away. He did not want to be lectured.

"You use fear, intimidation, power to get your way. What will you do now that intimidation won't work?" Clockwork asked, shifting again to his adult form.

Phantom laughed and shook his head. He straightened and looked the ghost right in the eye. "If you didn't play with time like a coward, tell me, how would you defeat me? With that stick of yours?" he jeered.

Clockwork didn't respond to that, causing a smirk to grow on Phantom's face. The only power that ghost had was his manipulation of time. Take that away from him and he was less of a threat than the idiotic Box Ghost.

"The message from the Observants is simple," Clockwork said, abruptly changing the topic. He lifted his staff and whirled around.

Phantom, knowing what was about to happen, rushed forward to try to grab him. But he was too late. The misty clock face appeared and disappeared, taking Clockwork with it and leaving only his words echoing in the air behind him.

"Do not get involved with Samantha Manson."


	7. Instinct

Chapter Six

_Instinct_

Sam felt like she knew what it was to be paranoid schizophrenic that morning when she woke up with her phone underneath her ear. Tucker had been her lifesaver last night, but it wasn't like she could call him again in the morning to prattle off the news or something like that. He would be getting ready for school, just like her. And he probably wouldn't be too happy considering she fell asleep on him and hadn't heard a word about that sci-fi movie.

It took a good five minutes, and a fair amount of checking the temperature outside her warm blanket cocoon, before she dared to get out of bed. She settled her toes onto the carpet, eyes darting here and there to catch any small movement, her shoulders stiff, fingers clutching the edge of the mattress.

There was nothing. And the chills were gone. In fact, she felt a little too warm in her long-sleeved shirt and pants.

"Okay, Sam. Pull yourself together," she murmured. But she couldn't help sprinting to the bathroom as if her life depended on it. "I have to be on time for school," she said aloud, trying to convince herself she wasn't afraid. Or possibly convince anyone _watching_ that she wasn't afraid.

Her body trembled at the thought. She looked up at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and narrowed her eyes. She was Sam Manson. She was tough. She was strong. Her hands clenched into fists. She could handle anything life threw at her. She could handle this.

She got ready in record time despite her constant assurances that there was nothing to fear. If the chills were gone, that meant Phantom was gone, right? Even an invisible ghost couldn't hide his icy body temperature. It was what made him a ghost. He was dead. No blood brought life into his veins. He could never be warm. So she would always know when he was near so long as she focused on any unnatural chill.

But…what if he was keeping his distance?

Sam groaned and ruffled her hair in frustration. Then she groaned again realizing she'd just ruined her hairstyle. She tore the band out of her hair and tossed it aside. She wasn't in the mood to fix it again. She just wanted to eat quickly and get out of there. Public places were safer than staying locked up in her apartment. If she was surrounded by people, Phantom would be less likely to come near her.

Entering the small kitchen area, Sam opened the fridge to retrieve her batch of no-cook overnight oatmeal. Her hand automatically reached into the second shelf. She froze when she didn't immediately feel the bowl against her fingertips. She had put it there for sure. Right after coming home, she'd made the oatmeal and put it there. She hadn't opened the fridge again.

Sam crouched down and saw the bowl on the third shelf. Her blood ran cold. She slammed the door shut and left the kitchen. She needed to get out of there _now_. Snatching her backpack from the living room couch, she walked out the door and headed downstairs.

The landlord crossed her path as she tried to leave. "Oh, Sam," the middle-aged man said, wiping his hands on the white dress shirt stretched tight across his belly. His balding head was beaded with sweat and he smelled of cigarette smoke. He actually had the audacity to smile at her as he asked, "Do you have next month's rent?"

Sam stifled another groan. The greedy man always took advantage of her financial situation. Just because her family came from money, had left Sam enough to attend college and establish a future for herself, and still had more coming in every few months, the landlord thought it justified his asking for her rent whenever he pleased. Just because he knew she could afford it.

"No. Not this time," she said, forcing a smile. They went through the same conversation every time they met. More often than not, she would give him the rent early. Just to get him off her back for a while. But this time, she would have to refuse. She honestly wasn't sure if she would stay in this apartment anymore. She might have to look for a new place to try to avoid Phantom or maybe get him tired of following her around.

The landlord frowned and put his hands on his hips. "I did give you one of the best apartments here, in consideration of your family. I knew them. Nice people." He nodded absently. "And your mother. Very pretty woman. You take after her, you know."

Sam cringed. The thought of her being anything like her mother was appalling. "Yeah, thanks. I still can't give you the money," she said briskly. "I have to go to school now." She brushed past him, clutching the strap of her bookbag so tightly her knuckles turned white.

He turned and called out after her, "Will you have it for me tomorrow?"

"No!" she said, glaring at him over her shoulder. She threw open the door and spun to face him as she stood in the doorway. "And just so you know," she said, resting her palm on the doorframe and leaning in, "this building is supposed to be tobacco-free," she sneered, then slammed the door shut.

Sam stormed off, stomping her boots angrily on the sidewalk as she made her way to the bus stop. She was hungry. She was annoyed. She wanted this day to be over and she wanted her life to go back to the way it was before. When no one really noticed her in school and left her alone, as she wished. When all she had to worry about was homework, the news, the rent, the environment, animal rights. Nothing else.

Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her black cargo pants. It was Tucker, telling her she owed him for falling asleep during his riveting explanation of the movie last night. She rolled her eyes and shoved the phone back in her pocket. He wouldn't be saying that if he knew the real reason she had called. In fact, he might not even want to be seen with her if he knew the real reason.

That gave her pause. Should she give him fair warning of what he might be getting himself into if he got involved with her? Or would she just continue to selfishly use him to combat her fear of being alone? Neither option was appealing. But she would have to do what was right. It wasn't fair to him to be walking blindly into a trap.

Her outburst with the landlord had filled her with adrenaline. When she got to the bus stop, she found she couldn't sit still. She tapped her feet, continuously shifted position, and scraped the purple polish off her nails. Finally, she resorted to pacing. If it annoyed the other students waiting for the bus, she didn't care. She needed to pace. And pacing, with her head lowered and her eyes fixed on her boots, was how she accidently bumped into someone.

"Oh!" She stepped backwards, bringing her hand to her forehead to push the hair out of her eyes. The man looming above her—with silvery grey hair tied back at his neck, a close-shaven beard, and dark midnight blue eyes—smiled pleasantly. He tugged at his black suit coat and adjusted the red bow at the collar of his white dress shirt. She recognized him from televised public speeches and the statue erected in front of the town hall. Vladimir Masters. The mayor of Amity Park. What was he doing in this odd corner of town?

"Forgive me," he said, giving her a bow with one arm in front of him and one behind like a noble gentleman. "I wasn't paying close enough attention to where I was going."

Sam smoothed down her messy hair, glancing away. "It was my fault actually. Sorry, Mr. Mayor," she muttered.

She'd hoped he would simply leave after that but instead the man started to laugh. "Please, call me Vlad," he told her. When she gave him a skeptical look, he extended his hand to her. "And you are?" he asked.

Hesitantly, she took his hand. "Sam Manson."

His eyes widened at the sound of her name. "Manson?" He stepped back and looked her over. His face took on a confused expression. "Your parents were Pamela and Jeremy?"

She averted her gaze to the sidewalk. "Yeah."

Concern washed over Vlad's face. He came closer to her and gripped her shoulder in his hand. "I'm sorry, child. If there's anything I can do…"

She fought down the surprise and embarrassment that washed over her when she realized he knew about her parents'…disappearance. But she didn't want to talk about them. They were gone. That was that. There were more important things to discuss.

Sam quirked an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips, looking up at Vlad sternly. "You can utilize more sources of renewable energy, for starters," she said.

His eyes grew wide, stunned. "What?" he said incredulously.

"Renewable energy. Oh, and recycle."

Vlad nodded slowly, forcing a smile. "I see." He removed his hand from her shoulder. "All right," he said. His eye twitched. He glanced aside to hide it and crossed his arms over his chest.

Sam continued to stare at him pointedly. If she had happened to run into the mayor, then she was going to make the best of it. "And protect the park. Make sure it's clean and litter-free. Plants provide oxygen, you know."

Vlad adjusted the bow at his collar again and cleared his throat. "Anything else?" he asked, forcing another smile.

"I know you probably can't ban meat because it'll start a riot. But you can at least cut down on its availability? Animals have rights too," she said, nodding emphatically. "And people should be encouraged to eat vegetables. Lower the prices of healthy foods. Raise the prices of junk food. That's how it should be if we're really concerned about the health of this nation's citizens."

Vlad gaped at her, his eye twitching again. "I see… Understood." He cleared his throat again, tugged at his suit, and nodded. "Well, thank you. I will take your _many_ opinions into consideration, Ms. Manson."

Sam smiled at him brightly. "Good. Have a nice day."

"And you as well." He bowed again and then turned around to walk away.

"Umm, weren't you going this way?" Sam asked, pointing her finger in the opposite direction.

Vlad's eyes widened momentarily and then he laughed. "Yes, I was. But I'm delaying my business there in favor of discussing your opinions with my staff. If you feel this way, I'm sure there are others who share the sentiment. Starting early is the key to success, no? Besides, I was only going to visit a friend. Not exactly the work of a government official." He winked at her, smiling.

"Oh." Sam watched him curiously as he turned to leave. He was a bit weird. But she was satisfied either way that she had managed to share some of her concerns with him. That was enough to drastically improve her mood.

The bus came soon enough and she spent the thirty minute ride staring out the window. When she made it to school, Tucker was waiting for her by her locker, fiddling away on his PDA. He spared her a glance when she walked up to him. "Hey," he said before looking down again.

Sam rolled her eyes and started rummaging through her locker. "I take it I'm forgiven since you're too busy to even look at me?"

"No way," Tucker said, glaring at her momentarily. "That was cruel. There I was, feeling like I was studying for a test or something, and you were just snoring away!"

"I was snoring?" she asked, giving him a look.

"No. But that's beside the point." He lowered his head closer to the PDA screen so that all she could see was the top of his red cap. "I'm going to find an extremely detailed synopsis of the movie for you to suffer through," he muttered. "There will be justice in the world."

Sam closed her locker door and turned to face him with her hand on her hip. "Wouldn't it be easier to make me watch the movie?" she asked, amused.

He lifted his finger and glanced up at her with a smug smile, as if he'd bested her in something. "Easy being the key word there," he said. "Easy doesn't rhyme with suffering."

"Neither does synopsis."

Tucker shrugged. "Technicalities." She watched as he pulled out his cell phone and texted her the link to the synopsis. He looked up at her, grinning. She grinned back at him, pulled out her phone, and erased the message. His grin faltered. "Did you just…"

"And just how did you plan on forcing me to read it?" she asked. She had to stifle a laugh at the expression on his face.

Furiously, he sent the message again. "Not fair! You have to read it!"

"No, I don't."

He glared at her. "If you don't, I'll chew with my mouth open. Every day."

Sam shuddered in disgust. "Gross. You wouldn't."

Tucker grinned again. "Watch me." He stuck out his tongue.

She threw her hands up in the air. "Fine! Whatever. I'll read it. I'm sorry." She brushed past him, ignoring his raucous laughter. Why had she even let herself get caught up in that conversation? She had more important things to discuss. Like… Abruptly, she stopped walking.

Tucker, who'd been following behind her, stumbled and nearly dropped his PDA. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, backing away from her. He put his PDA into his pocket and moved up to stand next to her, adjusting the red cap on his head. "Was that payback or something? Because it wasn't funny. If you break my PDA, you better be prepared to buy a new one."

Sam fixed him with a stare. He fidgeted and blushed and averted his gaze. "W-what? What's wrong?" he stammered.

She heaved a sigh. Better to get this out of the way now. Even though she had a feeling she would miss him a bit if he left her alone. "What do you know about Phantom?" she asked.

Tucker's shoulders grew stiff. He looked at her with wide, confused eyes. "Just…that he's evil. Why?"

Sam glanced around to see the other students in the hallway. While she didn't think they would care about her conversation, she still didn't want to cause a panic. "Come with me," she said quietly, grabbing Tucker's wrist and yanking him away. She dragged him down the hallway, searching for a spot where there weren't many people who could eavesdrop. The best spot she could find under these circumstances was near the band room. Some of the kids were already practicing which would make it harder for anyone walking by to hear their conversation.

Sam stopped in front of a row of lockers and released Tucker. Before he could say anything, she spun on her heel to meet his anxious gaze and blurted out, "I think Phantom has been following me."

Tucker's jaw dropped. His eyes widened to the point where it looked painful. "Please, please, please tell me you're joking," he said, wringing his hands. Sam shook her head, causing Tucker to whimper and yank his cap down over his forehead. "This isn't happening. This isn't happening. I'm dreaming, right?" he mumbled, hunching over and rocking back and forth on his heels. "You're not trying to trick me, right? You don't have to read the stupid synopsis! Don't give me a heart attack for it, okay? Please, please, please tell me you're joking."

Sam cringed at the sight of him. His eyes were beginning to water. Maybe she should have waited after all.

"Pull yourself together, Tucker," she said, a little more harshly than she'd intended. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Come on. _I'm_ the one being followed. Shouldn't I be the one freaking out?"

"Well, yeah. But what if he comes to me now?!" Tucker shrieked and latched his sweaty palms onto her arms. "I should be stalked by hot girls, not psychotic ghosts!"

"Tucker, relax! He won't go near you."

At that, his eyes narrowed. "Hey, I'm an interesting person. He might find me more interesting than you."

Sam heaved a sigh and pushed him away from her. If he was able to make stupid remarks like that, he was obviously fine. "Look. I don't know why he's following me, but so far he hasn't shown his face. I think he's just curious."

Tucker's brow furrowed into a puzzled expression. "If you haven't seen him, how do you know he's there?"

"He's cold," she said simply.

Tucker looked even more confused. "Cold?"

"Yeah. You'll feel cold. There'll be an unnatural chill or something." He still didn't look convinced by her explanation. She sighed and gave him a noncommittal shrug. "Trust me, you'll know."

"Hmm." Tucker tapped his finger on his chin thoughtfully. "But what about when it's already cold outside? Or if you're in a room with AC?" he asked, pushing his red cap further back on his head.

Sam shook her head impatiently and crossed her arms over her chest. "He's colder. Just trust me. I know."

Tucker watched her for a moment, then sighed and ran his hands over his face. "What are you going to do, Sam?" he asked softly.

Sam's expression turned bleak. "I'm not really sure. Just act normally, I guess." She held her arms tightly over her chest, trying to reign in her emotions. "I feel like if I start acting differently, he'll want to show himself," she mumbled with a noncommittal shrug.

"Or the opposite," Tucker pointed out, cringing at the thought.

Sam narrowed her eyes. "Thanks. That helps," she said blandly.

Tucker cringed again. "Sorry. Are we still going to work on the extra credit after school?"

"Yeah." She turned and started walking down the hall. "There's less of a chance he'll show himself in public, right?" she said, smiling weakly at Tucker over her shoulder.

Tucker forced a smile back at her. He waited until she wasn't looking at him to whisper, "Or more."

* * *

"Do not get involved with Samantha Manson?"

Phantom repeated that phrase to himself over and over and over again as he lay with his hands behind his head on the worn out couch in his living room. Staring blankly at the ceiling above him, eyes narrowed into slits, lips curled down in a sneer, he heard the words echoing in the space around him, pounding in his skull, driving him mad.

"Do not get involved with Samantha Manson?"

What exactly was so bad about seeing her that the Master of Time himself had deigned to leave his clocktower in the Ghost Zone and journeyed to the little city of Amity Park? What events had he set in motion were significant enough to warrant the attention of the Observants?

"Do not get involved with Samantha Manson."

He said it aloud, almost like a mantra. As if he could convince himself to stop playing this game of his now before the consequences of his actions were irreversible. As if he could wipe the memory of her violet eyes from his mind. As if he still had a conscience to differentiate right from wrong.

No, he had lost the privilege to such a thing long ago.

He didn't want to _not_ get involved with her. He wanted to finish his game. And if that entailed both insulting the Observants and undermining Clockwork's authority, then that just made it all the more rewarding.

He had thought up a brilliant plan and he was going to start with its enactment right away. All he needed to do now was freshen up—he needed to impress her after all, not repulse her—and then wait until her classes were over. Since she would be with Tucker after school, he would be able to get into contact with her through him.

Sighing contentedly, Phantom stood up from the couch and climbed the stairs to his parent's bathroom. The flash of white and black in saw from the corner of his eye as he walked past the mirror made him pause mid-step. He peered at his reflection, puzzled by the green eyes and white hair and hazmat suit. He'd thought he'd changed back long ago. He must have been so heavily occupied by Clockwork's message from the Observants that it had slipped his mind.

No matter. He changed back into his blue-eyed, black-haired counterpart and headed for the shower.

* * *

One uneventful Friday of classes later found Sam waiting for Tucker at one of the cafeteria tables. She fiddled idly with a pencil in her hand. Though she was staring at the handout they'd received for the extra credit math assignment, she wasn't really processing the formulas and problems that were there. Instead she was trying to essentially connect the dots, find out when exactly she'd attracted Phantom's attention.

Some prying had revealed that Paullina and her group of girls had come into contact with Phantom on Tuesday. She'd heard that from Paullina's friend, Star, since Paullina had chosen to ignore Sam when she'd asked. When Sam had tried to return the ten dollar bill she'd found in her wallet, Paullina had stared at it with wide eyes, then glared at Sam and quickly walked away.

Sam groaned and ran her fingers through her hair, dropping the pencil on the table. Had it been the scene with Paullina that had got his attention? No, that couldn't be it. Because she remembered the cold rush of air she'd felt while rushing to school on Tuesday morning. He must've been standing right in front her, laughing at her for her stupidity. Her teeth clenched together in a snarl. Phantom was just making a fool of her!

"Hey, Sam." Tucker sat down in the chair next to her, dropping his backpack to the floor. "I just got a text from Danny," he said, glancing at his phone. "He wants us to meet him outside for some reason."

It took a second for Sam to process his words and connect the name Danny to a person. "Why?" she asked. She really wasn't in the mood to deal with the incorrigible Danny Fenton.

Tucker shrugged. "I have no idea. I told him we were doing homework, but he still wants us to meet him."

Sam raised an eyebrow, giving him a devious look. "He's been suspended. If we stay here and ignore him, there's nothing he can do about it. He can't enter the building."

"But that would be mean," Tucker said weakly. His lips puckered up in a pout and he slumped down in his chair. "He'd probably beat me up on the way home."

Sam rolled her eyes. "If he does stuff like that, then why are you friends with him?"

"Because he needs friends," he murmured, absently fidgeting with the phone in his hands. "You don't know what happened to him, Sam. How much he's changed. He wasn't always this way."

She heaved a sigh. Pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, she took a deep breath and counted to five before exhaling. Tucker looked at her warily. She scowled at him. "If Danny does _anything_ that gets on my nerves, I'm leaving. Got it?"

"Okay!" Tucker nodded furiously at first, smiling, and started typing out a text message. Then his fingers stilled on the phone's keypad, eyes widening, and he lifted his head to meet Sam's gaze. "But…what about Phantom?" he whispered. "If you leave, then…" He left the sentence unfinished, hanging around them like an ill omen.

Sam wasn't able to hide her shiver of fear. She really, really, _really_ didn't want to be alone. "If I leave, you're coming with me," she grumbled, averting her gaze to the table. "You made him leave yesterday."

Tucker pouted again. "I can't believe you did that. You could've told me! I would've gone to your apartment! Or, uhh, at least called the police or something." He scratched the side of his head. "Or the ghost busters," he muttered.

"I told you I was sorry," Sam mumbled and glared at the table. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "I didn't know what to do. I was acting on instinct," she explained.

Tucker sighed and pulled his cap down further on his head. "Anyway, we should probably go meet up with Danny."

"Did he just send you a message in all caps telling us to hurry up?" Sam asked wryly.

Tucker gaped at her. "How did you know?"

She shrugged. A smile tugged at her lips. "Instinct."

* * *

Danny paced back and forth on the grass in the school yard, fuming. It had been precisely four minutes since Tucker had replied to his message and said that he and Sam were on their way. Even if they made a stop at their lockers, they still should have been out the front doors already. What were they doing? Were they trying to make him angry? Because it was working.

He sent Tucker another message telling him to _HURRY THE HELL UP_ before he was forced to go in there and retrieve them himself, suspended or not. He would just push Principal Ishiyama away like a bothersome fly and drag Sam out by the collar of her shirt.

But that would ruin his plan.

He stifled his anger as best he could, leaned back against one of the few lone trees in the school yard, shoved his hands into his pockets, and glanced at the front door. Still no sign of them. His jaw snapped shut and his hands clenched into fists.

Calm. He needed to be calm.

He relaxed his shoulders. Gave out a long exhale. They would be here soon. They had to be here soon.

Danny closed his eyes, counted to ten, pictured Sam's face and those bright violet irises in his mind. When he opened his eyes, those same bright violet irises were fixed on him. A smirk immediately went on his face. She scowled in response.

Oh, this would be fun.

"Hey, Danny!" Tucker called out, waving his arm with a huge grin on his face. He approached the tree quickly, while Sam lagged behind with her arms crossed and a frown on her face. "This is rare. We barely hang out anymore. It's depressing," Tucker said, playfully elbowing Danny's side.

Danny kept his eyes on Sam, watching her with that smirk still plastered across his face. When her face turned pink and a childish pout went on her lips as she glanced away, Danny turned and gave Tucker his full attention. "I knew you would miss me. That's all," he said with a shrug.

Tucker scowled. He straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest. "That's preposterous," he said haughtily. "It's the other way around, isn't it?"

Danny chuckled, shaking his head in a patronizing manner. "Remember, Tuck, I know that you can't live without me." He feigned a loving expression and wrapped his arm around Tucker's neck. "I know how difficult it is to be apart from me," he said, overdramatic to the max. He sneaked a peek at Sam and saw her hiding a laugh behind her hand.

Too easy.

Tucker struggled to break out of the chokehold on his neck. But Danny was far too strong for him. "H-hey! Get off me! I love women!" he shouted, trying to pry Danny's arm away.

"It's opposite day. I love you too." Danny leaned over and planted a kiss on his horrified friend's cheek.

"AHH!" Tucker screamed at the top of his lungs and violently shoved Danny away. Mortified, he wiped at his face. "What was that for?! How am I supposed to get through the rest of this day with your slobber all over me?" He glared at his friend only to be met by a lazy smirk and glimmering blue eyes. "Jerk."

Danny crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the tree. "I prefer sadistic, but yours works too."

There was silence for a moment, before Tucker broke it with his loud, easy-going laughter. Danny joined in, to blend in to the carefree, laid-back atmosphere, to make sure his plan would run smoothly. His eyes darted to Sam's and back. He was pleased to see her as relaxed as Tucker was, though she still wore a frown on her face. The girl was far too easy to read.

Sam cleared her throat loudly to gain the boys' attention. She waved a piece of paper in the air, giving Tucker a look of annoyance. "We have an assignment to finish, you know," she reminded him.

"I know, I know," he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. "Where should we go? Oh!" His face lit up. "How about the Nasty Burger? When it was rebuilt, they made it even better than before! Or so I've heard anyway. I haven't gone there yet because—"

"Can't you work out here?" Danny interrupted him. Both Sam and Tucker turned to him with stunned expressions. He gestured vaguely at the yard and shrugged. "Fresh air?"

Tucker was dumbfounded. Sam was the one who responded with a hearty "I agree! Maybe it would do your _animal-consuming_ soul good to commune with nature."

Tucker's expression transformed into one of absolute wide-eyed terror. "Danny. Save me," he whimpered, but Danny only shrugged again and followed Sam's lead as she sat on the grass.

"Speaking of communing with nature, I forgot to mention that I ran into the mayor this morning," Sam said as she fished a notepad out of her backpack and propped it up on her knee. "I shared my concerns about the state of Amity Park with him and he said he would inform his staff right away."

Tucker moaned and plopped down onto the grass next to Danny. "You've banned meat, haven't you? Oh god. I won't survive. I can't survive!" he wailed.

"Shut up," both Sam and Danny snapped at the same time.

Sam glanced at Danny before continuing, "I didn't ask to ban meat. I knew you would cry."

Tucker threw his hands up in the air. "Hallelujah!"

Danny watched Sam intently as she started working on the assignment and spoke absently about her impromptu meeting with the mayor. He had to tune out Tucker's griping about the benefits of meat over vegetables. He knew the mayor personally, having had dealings with him before. The hypocritical, power-hungry, selfish mayor who was actually a ghost. The only ghost able to move about _his_ domain of Amity Park.

By the time Phantom had spoken with Walker about banning all other ghosts from entering Amity Park, Mr. Vlad Masters had already been sworn in as its mayor. Meaning his ghostly counterpart Plasmius had free reign as well and there was little Phantom could do about it.

Since then, Vlad had not done much to be on the receiving end of Phantom's wrath. That wasn't necessarily a good thing, considering his personality. But Phantom had accepted it and thought little of him, seeing as there were a multitude of other more important things to occupy his mind.

However, Vlad showing up now—right after Clockwork had delivered a message from the Observants—was too perfectly timed to be coincidence. The man was up to something. Be it good or bad, he was plotting something. And he would act swiftly and without mercy.

So Phantom would just have to act first.


	8. Act

Chapter Seven

_Act_

Sam had hoped Danny would leave while she and Tucker worked on the extra credit assignment. She'd purposely solved the problems slowly with that thought in mind. But no. He stayed there the entire time, as if he had absolutely nothing better to do. And he probably didn't. What was worse than him physically being near her was the fact that he stared at her the whole time.

She tried to ignore the staring at first and failed miserably. So she resorted to pretending to ignore it even though she knew she had a bright red blush and an embarrassed, self-conscious scowl on her face.

After the assignment had been finished—mostly due to her and not Tucker, who was surprisingly below average at math—Sam again hoped Danny would leave. She and Tucker had planned to stay together because of the whole Phantom ordeal. Tucker was the one who'd suggested it, although he'd looked terrified even as he said he'd stay with her for the rest of the day. But Danny still refused to leave. Once he heard that she and Tucker had plans to watch movies at her apartment, he was adamant that he should be invited too.

"Why can't I come? Do I look like I have something better to do?" Danny said with his arms crossed and a frown on his face as he stared the two of them down. Tucker was weakening to his intimidating stare. Sam wasn't.

"No, you don't. But you weren't invited," she snapped, mirroring his stance. Her glare could be just as threatening. It didn't mean a thing. Staring someone down was not how he should be getting his way.

Danny's eyes narrowed into thin slits. "I'm going with you. End of story."

Tucker grabbed Sam's arm and tugged on it gently. "Just let him come with us," he whispered in her ear. "He'll probably just follow us on the bus anyway."

Sam groaned and rolled her eyes. Why was it her life that had to be so ultimately screwed? She glared at Danny again, who looked even angrier than before which was surprising, and not surprising at the same time. The boy was like a volcano waiting to explode. What did that make her? The forest on the volcano's edge?

"Fine," she ground out behind gritted teeth. "But, just for your information, I'm being stalked by Phantom. So if you actually valued your life, you wouldn't come with us." She spun on her heel and immediately began walking away with Tucker in tow. She heard Danny laugh behind her before she felt his hand grab hers.

She gasped and tried to tear her hand out of his grasp. Another miserable failure. She tried again, but he just lifted her arm and yanked her forward. She stumbled into his chest and he wrapped his other arm around her waist to keep her there.

She squirmed, fighting to break his hold on her. She heard his heart beating against her cheek. "Let me go!" she cried out. Her voice was muffled against his chest. She kicked his shin with her heavy combat boot, but his grip didn't loosen in the least. That was upsetting. She conceded defeat after that and resigned herself to his embrace with a heavy sigh. She was positive he had that irritating smirk on his face, basking in the glow of his victory.

"I'm protecting you, _Samantha_," Danny said in a low, amused voice, his lips so close to her forehead she felt them moving on her skin. "I've seen a few ghost hunters in my day."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she scoffed.

"See for yourself," he whispered. He pulled away just barely enough for her to see his ice blue eyes glimmering with mischief. "Take off my shirt."

Her face turned red. Red. Red. _Red_. She knew it even though she couldn't see it. Her own eyes narrowed and she put her free hand—the one not being crushed in his grasp—on his shoulder and tried to push him away. "Get off of me, you pervert!" she snarled, purposely digging her nails into his skin.

Danny burst into laughter and released his hold on her. Her momentum caused her to stumble backwards and nearly fall over on the grass. Danny grabbed her arm before she could fall and steadied her. With that stupid smirk on his face, of course. "No, really. I'm being serious," he said and then abruptly lifted the bottom of his shirt, just enough for her to see the grey metal belt around his waist. In the middle of the belt was a green circular buckle that read _Fenton Works_. "This repels ghosts. So as long as I'm around, you'll be safe."

Sam looked over it skeptically. "Is it even on?" she asked.

Tucker, who'd been watching the pair in silence until then, came up beside Sam to examine the belt himself. "Oh, yeah! I remember that thing," he exclaimed, smiling. "It was a prototype of a small-scale invisible Fenton Ghost Shield. The Fenton Works building has a larger scale one for protection. And there was even a prototype for a ghost shield to cover all of Amity Park."

Sam was watching Danny as Tucker spoke and noticed his expression growing darker and angrier. She elbowed Tucker and gestured with her head in the direction of the sidewalk lining the front of the school yard. "The bus will be here any minute. We should wait over there," she said and promptly dragged Tucker over with her.

Sometimes boys were so thick-minded.

The bus arrived soon after. Tucker went in first, but Danny snatched Sam's wrist and tugged her back to the end of the clump of students waiting to enter. He stood behind her, with his chest leaning against her back, and started lifting up her shirt.

"Stop it! What are you—" she began to say, stopping only when she felt something cold being wrapped around her waist and heard the click of a lock. Stunned, she craned her head back to look at him and saw him smiling down at her.

"You're welcome," he murmured. Then, with his hands in his pockets and an expression of feigned nonchalance on his face, he got onto the bus and sat down in the front seat.

Stunned and baffled by the sudden change in Danny' behavior, Sam put her hands over the belt wonderingly. She didn't feel anything different. There was no physical change. No phosphorescent light that proved the shield existed. And yet, she felt safer. As if the belt was just a placebo to cure her of imaginary terrors.

Wide-eyed, Sam stared at Danny's profile through the bus window until the driver finally honked the horn and Danny turned towards her. Smirking.

She narrowed her eyes and sneered at him—which only made him laugh—and hurried onto the bus, completely ignoring him as he told her to sit down in his seat.

Two could play this game.

* * *

The bus ride to her apartment was both long and torturous. Without Sam to entertain him, Danny was forced to stare dejectedly out the window and make a futile attempt to ignore the idiocy going on around him. While there were few people on the repulsive yellow vehicle, they still managed to make the most obnoxious racket that penetrated his mental defenses and forced him to choke his aggravated fury before he unleashed a terror unlike any Amity had seen before. He swore to himself then and there, he would make Sam pay for subjecting him to this.

As the number of students on the bus diminished, so did the noise level. He had thought himself home free at the point. Before the driver decided then was the perfect time to turn on the radio to some kind of garbage music that stabbed at his ears like pins and needles.

He forced air out of his nostrils and punched the side of the bus. The driver glanced at him in the mirror. Danny glared back at him.

Oh, he would make Sam _pay_ for this.

When he saw the familiar apartment building rise up around the corner, he breathed a sigh of relief. This whole act of his was driving him insane. He should have just flown to her apartment. It would have been so much quicker and a lot less annoying. He could have texted Tucker for her address, though he didn't need it, and appeared at her doorstep moments later. However, not wanting to be apart from her for even a moment had led to this. He was apart from her anyway and he was just about to explode.

But he needed to keep calm. This was a necessary annoyance. Everything would be fine soon.

He heard rustling behind him. Sam and Tucker were moving up to the front of the bus since her stop was next. He made sure to glare at her murderously. She pretended as if she didn't notice.

This girl. She would be the death of him. Second death, anyway.

Danny practically bolted out of the bus as soon as the doors slid open. He took a deep breath of the crisp springtime air and willed himself to, if not calm down, at least give off a semblance of composure.

"That's my building there," Sam said, needlessly pointing out the large apartment complex in front of them on the right of the sidewalk.

Tucker gasped and hefted his backpack up on one shoulder. "Nice. I heard this place got some good reviews. But I also heard the landlord is bit…"

"Creepy?" Sam offered as she started walking toward the building.

"Well, that. And—"

"Greedy?" she said again with a frown on her face. "So greedy he asks for rent early?"

"Is that even allowed?" Tucker asked, looking at her worriedly and somewhat concerned.

Sam shrugged. "Not sure. But think about it. If people rarely get advances on their paychecks and have to ask permission and all that, how can he be so casual about getting advancements on the rent? It would be nice if he at least said sorry or something for making such a request. Or if he at least tried to show his appreciation for it."

Danny listened to the exchange silently, with his hands curled into fists at his sides. It was easy to gather that the landlord had done this to her multiple times. But he could be dealt with easily enough. There was no need to let it bother him now. What was curious was that, if she was able to pay rent early without having a job, she must be wealthy. That would also explain why she seemed to believe her parents were taking a never-ending vacation, according to her diaries anyway.

But if she was wealthy… Danny appraised her with a sidelong glance. Her hair was disheveled and hanging loose around her shoulders. Her black cargo pants and combat boots were extremely unflattering. They did nothing to show her long, slim legs at all. Her T-shirt was one size too big for her, which was all right considering she was wearing a bulky metal belt around her waist now, and it was a light purple color with an Asian letter on it in bold black font. She looked perfectly fine. But he still wondered, if she was really wealthy, why would she dress like that? Like a poor college kid with no money to buy new clothes? Sure, he could buy into the whole not-caring-your-looks sort of thing. But she was so much prettier than most other girls with those bright violet eyes and smooth skin. She should make an effort to accentuate it, shouldn't she? Wasn't that why girls dressed up nicely? To symbolize that they cared for themselves and saw themselves worth the attention? To feel good about themselves? To look nice for someone important?

He just didn't understand her. It annoyed him. Maybe because he wanted to be important enough for her to dress up for him, even if was completely unnecessary. Or perhaps because it was just another unexpected piece of the paradox that was Samantha Manson.

Sam led them up to her apartment on the top floor and even conceded to giving them a brief tour of the place even though he probably knew every nook and cranny of the apartment better than she did. She opened her fridge to rummage around for some dinner and snacks—which were, to Tucker's horror, fruit and vegetables instead of popcorn and chips. Danny noticed her oatmeal sitting untouched on the third shelf where he'd moved it the other day. He smiled to himself, imagining her surprised and frightened face when she realized it wasn't where she had left it. It was too bad he hadn't been there to watch her this morning. It would have been exceedingly amusing.

Sam set the fruit and vegetables and a bowl of pasta on the coffee table and turned on the TV. She sat down on the far end of the couch as Tucker examined her DVD collection. Danny took that moment to slide onto the couch next to her, hoping to get a rise out of her and also because it would be a beneficial choice for the sake of Tucker's life.

Sam barely spared him a glance. She sighed, rolling her eyes, and curled her legs up on the seat. She propped her elbow up on the armrest and leaned her head against her fist. "Are you going to scold me or are you expecting a thank you?" she mumbled, not bothering to look at him or even address him.

Danny chuckled. That response was unexpected as well. Though he supposed he should have known better than to anticipate certain reactions from her. She would never act according to his designs. He would have to fix that if his plan was going to work. Next time, she had better act as he wanted.

"Neither," he said. "I was going to ask a question."

"Oh?" She didn't look interested in the least. She was watching Tucker instead.

A smirk twisted his lips. He knew without a doubt how she would react this time. "What would your parents think if they knew you were alone with two boys you barely know?"

Sam froze. As soon as the word _parents_ was out of his mouth, her shoulders stiffened and her back straightened up. She let out a shaky breath and dropped her legs down to the floor, reclining back onto the couch. "Are you saying there's some reason I shouldn't trust you two?" she asked, a biting edge in the tone of her voice. She was angry at him, but she was trying so hard not to show it. And she completely bypassed his question of her parents and focused immediately on them instead. How pathetically easy this was.

Danny shrugged and leaned back with a sigh, putting his hands behind his head. "I was just wondering," he said casually. "So where are your parents? Do they live here with you?"

Sam gave him a stern look. "I told you. I don't know where they are," she hissed, then glanced at Tucker. It was obvious she didn't want him to overhear.

Danny stared down at her, eyes glinting in mischief. She should consider herself lucky he wasn't enacting phase three of his plan right this minute. This was only phase one in the process of proceeding to phase two. The calm before the storm. Besides, she needed to pay for the bus incident.

"I just find it hard to believe. Was it not just a joke?" he asked, feigning innocence.

Sam's eyes narrowed and her lips puckered. She even put her fist on her hip in a domineering, obstinate way. "Why would I lie about something like that?"

Danny had to stifle the laughter that threatened to overwhelm him. She was too perfect. The perfect playmate. He had to force himself to look stunned by her words. He furrowed his brows and leaned his head closer to her. "It wasn't a joke?" he murmured, watching her eyes carefully. She shook her head in response and he widened his eyes slightly. "Oh," he said softly, then averted his gaze to the coffee table. "Sorry."

He said nothing to her after that, since it took enough of his concentration to appear embarrassed and somewhat guilty for his _inconsiderate_ words. She resumed her former position, with her legs curled up and her cheek resting on her fist. He felt her eyes on him every now and then and enjoyed his small victory.

Tucker picked out a horror film to watch. One of Sam's favorites apparently since she jumped up excitedly and clapped her hands when he showed it to her. Danny bit back a scowl. It seemed every time he made a right move to win Sam, Tucker made two right moves in the same turn. It was like his game was turning into two against one. Tucker wasn't even supposed to be a player.

They finished all the pasta almost immediately. Tucker went to get some crackers after since there was no meat to satisfy him. Sam nibbled on strawberries and carrots as the movie played. Danny forced himself to eat, just to have an excuse to _accidently_ brush his fingers over her hand as they _coincidentally_ reached for a snack at the same time. If he was being honest, food meant nothing to him after becoming a ghost. He didn't need it to sustain himself. The occasional times he ate were either to keep up a semblance of normalcy or because he just wanted to savor the taste. It was just one of the many things he had given up because of this power.

After the horror film came an anime action movie, another of Sam's favorites. Danny dozed off midway through it and was jolted awake when he felt Sam elbow him away from her side. He whispered an apology and scooted away from her. It would do him no good to get her angry at him now. It was more pleasurable to enjoy her closeness than get her riled up at the moment. But he still couldn't help the smile that made its way on to his face. She had been blushing. In the light of the afternoon sun drifting in through the window, he had seen her rosy cheeks. That was always a pleasing sign.

The third movie was a Halloween film, or maybe a Christmas film, involving a talking skeleton, a stitched-up doll stuffed with leaves, a town of creepy misfits, and one too many songs in his opinion. Tucker dozed off halfway through the movie. Sam dozed off later on, leaving Danny to admire her in relative silence, aside from the movie playing in the background.

The only light in the apartment came from the television screen. It was already night time. Had Tucker planned on staying the night? Danny was especially glad he had tagged along if that was the case. Tucker, alone with Sam. That was a death wish. And with Phantom stalking her? Tucker was extremely stupid. Loyal, but stupid. The boy was lucky he held him in such friendly regard or else he'd have been in the hospital already. Tucker was the anomaly in his plan. He was too much of an obstacle.

Danny looked at Sam again. Her hair covered her face. Gently, he pushed it back behind her ear and allowed his fingers to linger there. Words failed to describe how she looked to him then. This violet-eyed vixen.

The movie finished. Danny turned off the television and stood in front of Sam, looking down at her with bright eyes. "Samantha," he whispered.

She didn't budge.

"Sam." Still no response.

Danny crouched down and rested his hand on her face. "Sammy," he whispered. She stirred, nuzzling her face against the armrest she'd draped herself over. She stilled when he removed his hand.

Good. Judging by Tucker's snoring, they were both asleep. He lifted Sam up in his arms and lay her down on her bed underneath the covers. Then he not-so-gently shoved Tucker off the armrest and yanked on his legs so he was stretched across the couch.

It was time for phase three.

* * *

Bright green eyes scanned the night sky, half-expecting to see a certain time ghost appear and intrude upon his little show. But the sky was clear. He was free to go about his business then and start the cacophony of agonized screams, see terrified expressions of the cast's faces and smell their fear. An arid night like this was in need of some horror.

His pale lips spread into a malicious grin as he sunk down into the apartment building. He spotted the landlord immediately, putting a face to the man who'd been a nuisance to his Sammy. The fat, old, disgusting human was devouring a pastry. Phantom frowned in revulsion and broke the lightbulb with a flick of his gloved finger.

The man jumped out of the chair, startled. "D-darn electricity," he mumbled under his breath. Fear broke through the smell of cigarette smoke. He was beginning to walk towards the door of his office when the soft click of the door being locked froze him in his tracks. Sweat accumulated on his brow. "W-who's there?"

"Oh? You haven't heard of me before? I must not be doing a very good job," an eerie voice whispered in the darkness of the congested cubicle. Bright green eyes appeared before the old man with a wide smirk.

The pastry fell with a_ plop _and Phantom couldn't help the disgusted look that crossed over his face. "P-phantom," the landlord gasped, eyes wide with fear.

"You're not doing a very good job either," Phantom murmured, greedily taking in the smell of anxiety that had overcrowded his senses. Aside from being with Sam, _this_ was an excellent way to end the day. "So I'm here to watch you and make sure you do your job correctly. I want to see the fear in your eyes. I want to see you tremble before me. That's your job." With each word spoken, Phantom drew closer and closer to the man. "I want to hear you scream," he whispered maliciously, his smirk spreading across his face.

"D-d-don't hurt me," the man pleaded pitifully.

"Scream," Phantom whispered again, closing his eyes. He breathed in deeply and opened his eyes again. They glinted in the darkness, sending a ripple of terror down the man's spine. Phantom lifted his glowing hands and shot rays of ecto-energy across the room.

The man screamed and ducked, covering his head with his hands. He ran and fumbled with the scalding doorknob as Phantom watched on in amusement.

"I destroyed it, you pathetic piece of trash. There's no escaping me. You'll die here today, along with your precious building."

"Let me go! Let me go! What about everyone else?! They'll die too!" he wailed, waving his burnt hands frantically in the air, tears and mucus and sweat dripping down his face.

"Perhaps. Though I doubt it. They're used to this. You're the only one," he smirked, knowing full well the man only wanted to save himself. The filthy man deserved this. He deserved it for making a mockery of Sam and causing her to think of her missing parents whenever she came into contact with this trash. "Enjoy death, old man," he hissed, furious. "And don't worry. I've died once. It's not that bad."

He brought his hands together and created a large sphere of energy. It exploded in the room with a thundering boom. Phantom flew through the wall and out of the building, blasting the walls as he traveled upwards. Fire traveled through the building. Smoke rose up into the air. The alarms went off, filling the night air with shrill screams.

Phantom concentrated on the cold sensation that settled in the pit of his stomach every time he turned ghost and drew that power out of him. He circled the building, freezing an entire section of it as he went. Then he hurled an ecto-energy disk at the ice-encased section and watched it crumble. The building collapsed on top of itself. He watched as people streamed out onto the street, holding each other and staring in horror at what once had been their home.

Phantom heard sirens approaching from a distance. He continued his assault on the building, cackling as he went. It was too fun. To think, he had used to prevent this from happening. And they had persecuted him for it. Fine. If they wanted to suffer like this, then suffer they would. He was only too happy to oblige.

* * *

Sam let out a shriek as she felt the floor move beneath her. She tumbled off the mattress and landed with a thud on the floor. Her head throbbed painfully, but she ignored it. She knew exactly who was causing this disaster. Phantom. It had to be him! She muttered a curse. Tears pooled in her eyes, knowing it was her fault this was happening, but she blinked them back furiously.

"Sam!" Tucker cried out feebly. He was holding onto the couch for dear life. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks. "I don't want to die!" he wailed.

Sam gritted her teeth. What had she done? What had she been thinking bringing them here when a sadistic ghost was hunting her down? She was a fool for listening to both of them. She was a fool for accepting the belt that only protected her from inside her room. Phantom had turned to destroying her instead for denying him his plaything.

But she needed to be strong right now. For Danny and Tucker's sake.

She grabbed Tucker's arm and pulled him over to her. "We're going to be fine. Where's Danny?"

Tucker shook his head. More tears went down his cheeks. "I don't know. I don't know. Phantom got rid of his parents before. What if he got rid of Danny too?"

Oh god. Sam felt like she was about to throw up.

"Danny!" she yelled. No response.

She shoved her emotions down, locked them away, and yanked on Tucker's arm again. "Let's go."

There was no time to think. She needed to act.

She tore her apartment door open and shoved Tucker out in front of her. She was afraid he would stumble and fall behind, lost in misery and fear, if she didn't push him forward and act as his anchor if he fell.

People were rushing down the stairs, tumbling over one another. She muttered another curse and weaved herself and Tucker through the dim-witted mass, which cared too much about carting along as many of their belongings as they could instead of saving their lives and everyone else's. She bit her tongue in order to keep from screaming out. These people were hopeless. All she could do was try her hardest to push through the crowd and make it to safety. Wherever safety was at the moment. Phantom could be demolishing the whole city as she fumbled down the stairs. Dread washed over her and the whole world seemed to freeze just for her. Even the screams around her seemed to slow down enough to resemble that of a caveman's grunt. Glancing up, she noticed the ceiling caving in on them. Her breathing hitched in her throat. Small tears streamed down from violet eyes to pale white cheeks. She wrapped her arms around Tucker, protecting his body with her own.

Before the debris came crashing down on top of her, Sam felt herself being rammed to the side. She glanced up and came face to face with the light brown eyes of a stranger.

"Run as fast as you can against the edge of the stairs," the man shouted above the clamor. "The ceiling will probably get caught in between those walls for a few seconds before it comes down. Save yourself. Go!" he roared, heaving her down a few steps.

Sam gripped the back of Tucker's shirt and hurried down the flight of stairs, hunched over like a frightened child. Large chunks of the building fell down around her, pelting her, as if trying to knock her off course. She glanced back once and saw the man helping others down as well. It was just as he said. The ceiling was being held up by the somewhat stable walls surrounding it. But was the man not going to save himself? She felt the urge to cry out to him but couldn't. It would do no good. She blinked back the tears that threatened to obstruct her vision and continued on her terrifying descent. "Please let him live. Please," she whimpered under her breath, nearly dodging the large black suitcase that came tumbling down behind her. Sam slammed Tucker and herself against the wall to avoid the collision and gritted her teeth. She was determined to get out. With a low cry of anguish, she grabbed Tucker's hand and starting to sprint through the crowd, ducking and weaving and dodging and jumping. She burst out of the crowd and ran out the front door.

She didn't turn back. She couldn't turn back.

Sam darted to the right and felt tears escape her eyes as she heard the screams of people who were trapped under the ceiling. Sobbing, she continued her journey to safety. Police sirens rang in the distance and Sam caught a flash of red in her peripheral vision. A low, sinking feeling washed over her and without thinking she snapped her head up towards the sky. Was it a trick of the eyes or did she was she really seeing a silhouette amidst the smoke and flames rising up from the building? "Phantom," she gasped.

Tucker followed her gaze and gasped as well. "It's him," he whispered. He started sobbing behind her.

Sam balled her hand into a fist. "You're a monster, you hear me?!" she screeched at the top of her lungs.

A loud explosion froze her in place. Her eyes widened and she watched in horror as the rescue team of fire trucks and police cars were encircled by ethereal green fire. She couldn't drown out the sound of the screams.

Sam fell to her knees as her sobs overcame her, dragging Tucker with her. What had they done to him? Just what had they done to Phantom to make him this way? Hadn't he been their savior before? Did being called Public Enemy Number One mean enough for him to turn his back on them? Why couldn't he just leave Amity Park alone?

"I HATE YOU!" she screamed, hugging her shivering body close. Sam fell to the side with a groan and brought her knees to her chest, curling up into a defensive ball. She couldn't hold her emotions back any longer. She succumbed to them and the pain overwhelmed her. "Why?" she whimpered. "Why?"

* * *

Phantom trembled with rage as he watched the people on the street. They had wanting suffering, right? So he had delivered. He gave them exactly what they wanted. What they deserved. It left him drained and fatigued. Making himself invisible, he seated himself on top of a nearby building and listened to the sounds below him.

He heard her screaming amidst the chaos. Heard her anger and hatred in every word. Her anger ran as deep as his own. He watched her small, black head with a blank expression on his face. Phase three, while pleasurable in the beginning, ended in a lackluster way. He didn't feel amused or victorious. He was simply hollow.

He frowned deeply and tightened his hand into a fist. He desperately wanted to see her face. It had been heart-wrenchingly agonizing waiting for her to escape the building. He had been worried he would kill her.

He muttered a curse and tore his gaze away from the small dot, deciding to watch the destruction instead. Stoically, he observed the anarchic scene playing out below him. It was doing nothing to assuage him anymore. He needed Sam.

Phantom turned to where he knew she was lying and a growl slipped out from between his cold lips. The dot that was Tucker was leaning over Sam, gathering her up in his arms. Phantom's eyes flashed in the darkness. That was his last move. The boy would wish he had stayed clear of _his_ Sam.

Without giving it a second thought, Phantom appeared behind the raven haired girl, who was oblivious to the world and lost in her own nightmares, and came face to face with wide pale green eyes.

"P-p-phantom," Tucker stuttered, his voice ending in a shrill squeak. The boy's hands shook uncontrollably and he let go of Sam and he stepped backwards. He stumbled and landed on the ground with a thud. Never taking his eyes off of the apparition in front of him, Tucker slowly edged away. But with every inch he moved, Phantom took a step closer. "Help me!" Tucker screamed at the top of his lungs, glancing around anxiously.

Phantom watched him, his face void of any emotions. He gritted his teeth tightly and balled his hands into fists. Ecto-energy burst to life around them in show of green flames. Of all people, it had to be Tucker. Tucker had to be the one to get close to Sam and interfere in things he shouldn't and do things he shouldn't and touch things he shouldn't and text when he shouldn't and talk on the phone when he shouldn't and talk when he shouldn't.

Anger flashed into the Phantom's veins like lightning, blinding him of all else. He teleported, appearing before the cowardly boy and grabbed him by his neck. "Stay away" he murmured in a low, scathing voice, "from what belongs to _me_." Phantom tightened his grip and brought Tucker's face close to his. "She's _mine_," he hissed. He threw Tucker aside as thought he weighed no more than a feather.

Tucker gasped for breath and tried to reach out towards Sam. "Wake up," he croaked, keeping his hand over his neck, over the burning and blistered skin. "Sam, wake up!"

A pair of white boots obscured Tucker's vision of the black head of hair. Tucker felt an icy cold dread wash over him and he desperately tried to scramble away, but the boots followed him wherever he went. Tucker glanced up into piercing green eyes filled with scorn. "P-please. Don't kill me!"

"I'm not," Phantom deadpanned. "I just want to make sure you'll do as you're told." He bent down and grabbed the boy's shoulders, heaving him up as he stood. His hands shone with an eerie light, the same color as his eyes. "Stay away from my property."

Tucker yelped as he felt his shoulders burn beneath Phantom's grip. He recoiled and frantically tried to pull away from the ghost's grasp. "Let me go! I'll stay away! I'll stay away!" he shrieked and gave one last jerk to the side. He fell to the pavement and didn't wait to regain his breath. He jumped up and sprinted out of sight. The pang of guilt that shrouded his mind was long and sharp. He'd just left a defenseless girl in Phantom's clutches. And worst of all, she had irrevocably become his _property_. He couldn't bring himself to imagine what Phantom would do to her.

Phantom watched Tucker's retreating form, waiting until the boy was completely out of sight before he turned to the unconscious girl on the ground. "Sammy," Phantom breathed, slowly making his way toward the body on the pavement. He carefully noted the way her eyebrows knitted together in frustration and the alluring movement of her lips as she mumbled incoherent words. Kneeling, he ran his fingers over her face, smoothing the wrinkle between her brows, caressing her cheeks, her lips. He leaned closer, examining her long eyelashes and strands of hair that fell across her face. He exhaled, watching her nose crinkle at the burst of cold air. She was…so much more than pretty.

He leaned even closer, bracing his hands on the pavement on each side of her, following his body's urges. He felt her warm breath on his face. Felt her lips against his as he turned his head. Felt her breath on his tongue as he tasted her for the very first time, sliding his tongue around the inside of her mouth. He explored and tasted for only a moment, before retracting his tongue and closing his lips in a brief kiss.

Phantom smiled down at her and licked his lips. How he had survived without her before was something of a miracle to him now. Gently, he wrapped his arms around her body and lifted her up. Her legs dangled lifelessly in the air. He pressed her face against his chest and took off into the air, formulating the details of the next phase in his twisted mind throughout the whole flight.


	9. Contradictions

Chapter Eight

_Contradictions_

Cold. She felt dreadfully cold. Whimpering, Sam hugged her arms together as close as she could. Why was it so cold? She remembered lying on the pavement, watching green flames, ethereal green flames. She remembered a man that had heaved her down the stairs of her collapsing apartment building. She remembered a dream. A dream of emerald green eyes and white hair and…

Phantom!

She woke with a start and felt a scream bubble up from her chest to the air. It was dark. Dark and cold. After a minute of groping about her surroundings within a near proximity, she realized that she was sitting on a couch, worn out from constant use, neatly wrapped up in an afghan. "Hello?" she whispered. The sound of soft footsteps brought fear into her soul. Just where was she?

"You're awake," a voice echoed back, sounding relieved.

The lights flickered on, blinding her. She put her hand over her eyes, squinting.

"I was getting worried," the voice continued. She could hear his footsteps and deduced that he was currently behind her and the couch. "I'm glad you're up. Good morning."

"This morning has been anything but good," she murmured hesitantly and rubbed her eyes. She crouched forward, ready to bolt if needed. She knew she had heard that voice before. She just couldn't place a name or face for it in her haze. She felt like she was still in a dream. Her vision returned slowly and she turned her head just as slow.

"Sam? Are you all right?"

She met a pair of dazzling blue eyes as she turned. Her gasp filled the silence of the room. "Danny?" she whispered. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes as she lifted her trembling hand to his face. "Are we dead?"

Danny's eyes widened in shock. He looked at her and sighed, shaking his head morosely. Taking her hand gently in his, he settled her palm against his chest. She felt his heart beating beneath her touch. "We're not dead, Sam," he whispered. He ran his fingers down the side of her face, brushing her tears aside. "You're still alive." His voice sounded so sad.

She held on to both of his hands tightly. "Then what happened? Where were you?"

"I was on my way back home when I heard the screams and explosions. So I ran back to make sure you were all right. I found you lying unconscious on the ground."

Sam frowned and tightened her grip on his hands. "What about Tucker?"

Danny shook his head. "I didn't see him."

Sam heaved a sigh. Tucker had probably given up on her now, and she didn't blame him for it. She was a danger to everyone so long as Phantom had his eye on her. Her anger, her fear, her sadness all came creeping up on her at once and she dropped her head down to the couch to try to keep herself from bawling. She didn't want him to see her cry. But she couldn't help it. She had lost everything.

Her shoulders trembled from the effort she put forth to keep from crying. When she felt Danny squeeze her hands reassuringly, her control snapped and the sobs burst out of her throat because she knew, after griping about Danny's irritating presence, she would finally get her wish. It didn't make her happy anymore to think that. She would miss the infuriating Daniel Fenton no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise.

She felt Danny try to pull his hands out of hers, but that just made her hold on all the more. "Sam," he said gently, his own voice sounding choked with emotion. "Sam, please stop. _Please_."

Hearing his words, she glanced up at him with her tear-streaked face. His eyes were bright and he was looking down at her as if she'd stabbed him in the back. She released his hands and glanced around the room. It didn't look like anyone at all lived here. She rubbed her eyes furiously, wiping her tears and sniffling. "It's not safe to be around me, Danny," she mumbled, fighting to keep her voice calm. "Since Phantom can't come near me with the belt, he destroyed the building instead. He'll do the same to this place. Whatever this place is."

Danny made his way around the couch and sat down next to her. "He actually can't," he mumbled. He placed his hand over hers on the couch. She didn't protest. She had no strength left in her. So he flipped her hand over so her palm was facing up and entwined his fingers with her own. She watched him as he leaned his head back. His expression was blank. "This is where I used to live with my family," he said softly. "They were ghost-hunters. So there's a ghost shield surrounding this place. And weapons to fight ghosts in the basement."

Sam's misery quickly turned to compassion and empathy. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, as he had done for her earlier, and looked him in the eye. "You don't have to help me," she said. She didn't want him to suffer in this house of painful old memories because of her. She had left her home for the same reason, and she certainly didn't want to return there.

Danny's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to protect you," he said sternly.

"But you don't have to—"

"I want to."

Sam felt her cheeks redden under his intense gaze. She didn't have the energy to argue with him right now. And he was beginning to confuse her with this change in behavior. She hadn't realized he had this sort of side to him, kind and gentle. Somehow, it was almost frightening. As if he had completely different facets making up his personality that, rather than making up one whole, remained separate and overshadowed each other. He couldn't be both kind and playfully mischievous at the same time. It was either one or the other. Almost like split personalities the he changed into at a moment's notice.

Sam reclined back into the couch and threw her head back to stare at the ceiling. Her memories of last night clarified in her mind's eye. She saw the man's face, the one who'd shoved her and Tucker down the stairs to protect them. She saw the faces of the women and children and terrified young adults of whom many had probably just recently decided to live on their own.

Ghosts were said to haunt the site of their death or wander in search of the wish they never had fulfilled. They were supposed to follow the ones they loved, remain in the house they had lived in, terrorize those who interfered with something of theirs. Phantom, being a ghost, was chained to Amity Park for some reason. That much was clear. He probably died here, with many regrets and unfulfilled desires. But if that was the case, why had he been a hero in the first place? She had watched the news. She'd known he'd saved them from other ghosts. How and why he had gone from being a hero to a menace was something she couldn't fathom.

Sam's hand was still connected to Danny's and his shoulder brushed against hers. His warmth spread throughout her body, ridding her of the cold that had seeped into her very core. The cold that had stung her face and even invaded her mouth.

Her shoulders stiffened, remembering the dream she'd woken up from. A shudder of revulsion ran down her spine. "Eww."

Danny glanced over at her curiously. "Eww what?"

"I was just thinking about this dream I had," Sam mumbled absently. "It was disgusting."

He lifted his eyebrow. "Are you going to elaborate?"

Sam gave him a look. "I'd rather not relive it, but sure." She took a deep breath and, glancing down at their hands, gently disentangled her fingers from his. They may be on good terms now, but that still didn't mean she would let him do as he wished and hold her hand as if they were a couple. Especially not after _that_ dream. "It was a short dream," she said with a shrug. "Phantom was there, staring down at me as if I was his next meal. He put his filthy hands on my face and then—" she broke off in another shudder despite her attempts to remain impassive. "Ugh. He shoved his _tongue_ down my _throat_." She shuddered again. "So disgusting! Revolting! Just… _Ugh_!"

Danny's eyes widened and a pink blush crept onto his otherwise pale face. "_Shoved_ his tongue?" he echoed back incredulously.

"And then he had the audacity to _kiss_ me afterwards and lift me into his arms bridal style." Sam cringed and stuck out her tongue. "He took off flying somewhere and that was the end of the dream," she added with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Danny just gaped at her, with an incredibly red face. She glanced up at him, confused. "Uhh, you okay?" she asked with a short chuckle. "Don't tell me you've never kissed a girl before or something. I'll find that hard to believe."

Danny scowled at her. "Why would it be hard to believe?" he grumbled.

"Wait, so you've never kissed a girl?"

"Not the right way," he grumbled again, glaring off to the side.

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry. Just don't _ever_ do what Phantom did and you'll be fine," she said. Though she wasn't exactly sure why he was so concerned about this. Or why she was giving him advice in the first place. Perhaps they just both needed something to distract themselves and this was what they had ended up with.

Danny turned his glare on her. "What is that supposed to mean?" he sneered. "French people do that."

"Yeah. But they're typically not unconscious."

Danny's face reddened further and he crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. "If you were dreaming, then technically you weren't unconscious. You just weren't coherent," he muttered.

All she did was grin at him, basking in the humiliation that rolled off of him like waves. "So you're saying you find nothing disturbing about kissing someone lying immobile on the ground?"

"Isn't that what CPR is?" he said sarcastically, earning a look of utter confusion and amusement.

"Why are you even so upset about this?" she asked, laughing. "It can't be because you tried doing that to someone before. And if you did, you're a terrible person."

Danny glared at her, but it was hard to take him seriously when his face was flushed. "Fine. I suck at kissing because I've never kissed a girl. How clever of you to discover such a thing," he said mockingly, rolling his eyes, making an attempt to salvage his demolished self-esteem. He stared at her sidelong for a moment, his gaze turning from embarrassed and offended to exceedingly sly. "So why don't I practice?" he murmured in a low, husky voice.

It took Sam a moment to recover her composure. The meaning of his words didn't process in her mind. "What?" she asked, cocking her head to the side in a way that made Danny's eyes flash.

Danny rested his arm along the back of the couch and scooted closer to her, bracing his other hand on the seat and effectively trapping her legs in place with his arm. "Teach me how to kiss you, Sam," he whispered, his lips close to her ear. She gasped and instinctively shut her eyes. She should have moved away from him right that instant, but she didn't. He leaned forward, moving his head in front of hers to see the blush on her face and the embarrassment in her eyes. He tilted his head to the side, coming closer to her lips. He closed his eyes as their breaths mingled with each other.

Then he felt her fist hit his gut and abruptly pulled away. "Ow! How cruel. I just wanted to practice kissing you," he cried out, holding arm across his stomach. There was a huge grin on his face. "Come on. Let me try again." He started to move close again but Sam put her hand on his face and shoved him backwards into the armrest of the couch.

"Pervert!" she shouted, standing up. "Can't you ever keep your hands to yourself?"

"Aren't I doing that right now?" he drawled, looking up at her coyly from his position on the couch.

Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and she felt herself go red in the face. What the heck was wrong with her? This was the infuriating, narcissistic, bad boy playboy who'd done nothing good for her except…

Give her a ghost shield belt.

Her heart beat even faster.

And…take her to a building with a ghost shield.

And he was even calling her Sam now.

He obviously wasn't all bad. But still. She was going to get whiplash with all these split personalities of his.

"I have to leave," she said abruptly, averting her gaze from his irritatingly mesmerizing blue eyes and crossing her arms over her chest as if that would somehow ward the space in front of her as a no-touch zone. "I need to leave. It's not safe here for me or anyone near me."

Danny heaved a sigh. Silently, he slipped off the couch and strolled into another room, by the looks of it, the kitchen. "Where would you go?"

"How should I know?" Sam murmured, trailing behind him. In all truth, she really didn't want to live in another apartment building. That was just asking for disaster. She didn't want to feel responsible for so many innocent lives ever again. She kept all of her money in savings so that wasn't an issue. She would have to skip town. Be a drifter or something. But if her supposition proved to be accurate, Phantom would remain in Amity Park—the site of whatever it was that kept him chained to earth—and she would be risking innocent lives yet again. Doing that would not settle her conscious. She needed to stay in Amity Park.

"You could always stay here," Danny said absently, yawning, and turned on the kitchen sink. He slipped his hands underneath the fall of water and splashed some in his face.

She glared at his back, thinking about what had just occurred on the couch. There was no way she would feel right living with him. Or safe.

Seeming to sense her thoughts, he chuckled and crossed the room, just barely brushing against her shoulder as he passed by without so much as a glance. He walked past the living room area and turned to ascend the staircase. "Like I said, this place has a built-in ghost shield and ghost weapons. Even if you don't plan on staying here for good, you can at least take a few days to rest and plan your next move," he said, his voice echoing in the relatively empty house as he traveled up to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, he leaned over the railing to look down at her and ask, "And with Phantom around, do you really want to be alone?"

Sam couldn't argue with him on that point. But she was still worried. If Phantom couldn't destroy the house she was staying in, did that mean he would target the ones near it? Or would he just stake the place down, ready to fly in as soon as the defenses were weakened, as soon as she dared to step outside or make the fatal mistake of opening a window or something like that? There were just too many possibilities, and she wanted to prevent anyone else from becoming a victim.

"So?" Danny's voice almost sounded otherworldly as it echoed around her. He crossed his arms over the railing and rested his chin on top of them. "What's the verdict? If it helps, I do have a habit of walking around naked."

Sam flushed again and narrowed her eyes up at him. "That just makes me want to leave this place, you pervert," she snarled.

He smiled, unperturbed. "But?" he prompted.

She sighed. "But it would be reasonable for me to stay here."

"Knew it."

"Doesn't mean I will!" she shouted.

Danny straightened up and waved his hand at her. "See you in a bit." He moved out of her vision, leaving her fuming downstairs.

* * *

Tucker paced back and forth in his small, dimly lit room. He rubbed his bruised and blistered neck tenderly, glancing outside the window for the hundredth time that morning. He was worried. No, more like terrified. He had left Sam in the hands of a psychotic, destruction-happy ghost. He knew he couldn't have done anything himself and he knew that if he did get help, Phantom would've been long gone by the time they got there, but he still felt like he had betrayed her.

And Danny. Tucker's eyes welled up with tears just at the thought of his name. Danny was missing. Tucker would have liked to believe that Danny had simply gone home before the building began to crumble. But for some reason unknown to him, he doubted that was the case. He had gotten the feeling last night, that Sam had incomprehensibly affected Danny in some way, shape, or form to the point where Danny almost seemed to be obsessed with her. Obsession was never a healthy thing. But being with Sam made Danny act so much more like the Danny he'd once known. Granted, there were changes in his personality that would probably remain, but it still felt like Sam was almost like a medicine for Danny's wounds. And because of this, Tucker simply couldn't believe Danny would have left Sam's apartment. That meant only one thing.

Phantom had kidnapped Danny. Maybe even banished Danny like he'd done with the rest of the Fenton family. Tucker couldn't bear the thought. Danny had already been through enough, hadn't he?

It didn't help that apparently neither of them had kept their cell phones.

A soft knock from the front of the room, startled Tucker out of his reverie. "Yeah?" he answered weakly, falling face first onto his bed.

"Tucker, are you alright? You've been up here for a while."

"I'm fine, Mom. Just studying," he lied as he crawled along the mattress. He winced and bit back a groan when the door creaked open. She could not, under any circumstances, see his neck. He pulled back the covers and dove underneath them. He heard her draw closer and turned on his side, reached for a book, and opened it. "Do you need something?" he mumbled, burying his nose in the book. From her position behind him, she could probably only see the back of his head. But, if she came around to the other side, his neck would be exposed. He pulled on the blankets, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. "Mom?" he asked.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Worry filled her voice, as he predicted, and he felt her hands gently run over his short-cropped black hair.

"I'm fine." He grumbled, sinking himself even lower so the blankets would cover his bruises.

"Are you getting sick?"

"Maybe." He groaned. "But it'd be nice if I could study in peace, Mom." His throat burned like a raging fire and he longed for some ice cold water. He just had to pray that he could pull off acting normally long enough for his parents to stop worrying. He wasn't the one who needed to be looked out for, after all.

"If you say so," his mother said, sitting down on the mattress beside him. "Would you like something to eat? Some soup maybe?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Your face looks pale. You should at least drink something. We've got orange juice in the fridge. Would you like some?"

Tucker bit back his interruptions and tried to focus on whether or not his neck was exposed. But this was his chance! Some relief from the burning. It'd be risky too risky though, having her come into his room again. She would either expect him to reach out and grab the water or she'd walk around the bed and place it on his desk. She might see his bruises then. And if he turned away to the other side as she walked, she might suspect something. If only he had thought to slip on a turtle neck sweater. He could, after she left to get some water, but then she might notice the different shirt. No, not might. She definitely would. Most of his back was exposed. She could clearly see his red T-shirt. If he changed into his black sweater she would certainly notice. Unless— "I'd rather have some water, if you don't mind," he muttered, losing patience with himself. His mother wasn't Sherlock Holmes. He'd survive.

"All right," his mother answered hesitantly as she pushed herself off the bed. "I'll be back in a moment."

Tucker waited until he heard the door softly shut behind his mom. What was he supposed to do? Hide out here in the safety of his parents while Danny and Sam were facing Phantom all alone? Honestly, that's what he really, _really_ wanted to do. But it just didn't feel right.

He jumped out of the bed with a gasp and held his swollen throat, wincing. "Stupid Phantom," he croaked out. Then he froze, glancing anxiously around the room. The ghost could be following him, for all he knew. Stupid, stupid mind for making him think things like that! Tucker pulled a thin, dark blue turtle neck shirt out of the pile of clothes on his floor and slipped it on. He rushed out of his room and hurried down the stairs just as his mother stepped out of the kitchen.

"Tucker? What's wrong? Where are you going?"

"Out." His shoulders shook with fear but he accepted the water bottle from his mom and scurried out of the house. "Be back later!"

"Wait! You're sick! Come back here! Tucker!"

He gulped down the ice cold water gratefully and ran as fast as he could in the direction of the fallen apartment building. He felt his mother's worried gaze following him and fought down the urge to return home. Danny and Sam were in trouble. He knew it. What he didn't know was what he was going to do if he met up with Phantom again. The thought of the specter sent cold chills down his spine. He glanced around his surroundings again and tried to ignore the throbbing in his neck. He needed to focus. Danny and Sam. Danny and Sam.

Within half an hour, Tucker was back at the apartment building. He wasn't even sure what he'd expected to find once he went there. All that surrounded the ruin were police and firemen and crowds of volunteers searching through the wreckage. He held back a cry of frustration and tried to think of places Phantom would take Sam.

The most obvious place would be Phantom's home. But he highly doubted that any human could get into the Ghost Zone, especially now that the Fenton family was gone. Every single one of them.

But Fenton Works was still intact. So, Tucker thought excitedly, the Ghost Portal should still be there too!

But no. Danny had tore the building apart soon after his family left. Maybe the portal had been destroyed beyond repair.

Tucker fell to his knees. "I'm sorry, guys. I'm not much help, am I?" He wiped away the tears from the corners of his eyes and glared at the pavement. "This is all your fault, you stupid ghost," he whispered bitterly. "All your fault, you hear me? All your fault!" he shrieked.

"My, my. This doesn't seem like such a lovely sight now. Hiding your bruises, I see? Clever."

Tucker shivered, despite the heat, at the other-worldly, echoing laugh that followed. He should've known that Phantom would be listening in on him.

"It's Tucker, right?" the ghost asked, feigning a hint of innocence in his tone. "Interesting name. I take it you're following my demands? I'd hate to have to teach you another lesson."

"Where are they?" Tucker had hoped to sound demanding and strong, but all he heard was a meek whisper rolling off his tongue.

"They?" Phantom repeated, floating down gently before him. The ethereal wisps of light that came from his every step felt like icy winds against Tucker's trembling body. "They are exactly where they need to be," he said stoically. "As are you."

"I want to see them!" Tucker snapped, glaring daggers into Phantom's skull. The ghost seemed taken aback by his response but, in all truth, so was he.

"You shouldn't get involved with them anymore—"

"_Where_ are they?!"

This time, Phantom wasn't taken aback. In fact, he seemed rather stunned by Tucker's outburst. "Somewhere," he whispered gruffly. "You're wasting my time. I only came to see if you were all right…"

"What?" Tucker gasped.

"…In the head," Phantom continued, narrowing his eyes. "You're going to stay away from them, right?"

Tucker shivered meekly. This was no time to be passive. He couldn't just sit back and let this maniac take control. He clenched his hands into fists. He would do this for his friends. "Tell me where they are. Or take me to them. In fact, just take me to them. I want to be sure they're safe."

"They'll never be completely safe, even if they live normally on Earth. You should know that."

"I want them to be safe from you!" he growled, then immediately regretted his decision. Acting like this would only get him on Phantom's hit list, if he wasn't already. But instead of anger, Tucker received only silence.

Then a question.

"Who would Sammy be safe with?"

"Danny." The name fell from his lips without him even having to think about it. And it was true, he suspected. He could just feel it. Danny would protect her with his last breath. "She'd be safe with Danny. Now take me to them!"

Phantom gazed down at Tucker with an unreadable expression. His emerald eyes were dull, and if Tucker weren't so angry and scared, he would've sworn the ghost looked remorseful. "Really? The Fenton boy?"

"He's much better than you, that's for sure," Tucker said hotly.

"You're positive of this?" Phantom asked quietly.

Tucker trembled, worrying that Phantom's sudden shift of mood was a warning that he should leave, and fast.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because he's my best friend. I know he'll keep her safe and I trust him to be alone with her." For the most part anyway. Tucker swallowed uneasily as he watched the thoughtful expression on the ghost's face.

Phantom glanced at him and laughed shortly. "I can sense your fear. You're practically bathed in it. Your mask can't fool me." He held his gloved hand in front of Tucker. Ethereal green fire swirled in his palm. With dull, half-lidded eyes lit up by the energy seeping out of his skin, Phantom brought his hand over Tucker's pounding heart. "You need to be eradicated," he said robotically. He grabbed hold of Tucker's collar and lifted him up so that his feet dangled in the air. "Enjoy the afterlife." He moved his hand closer to Tucker's chest so that the flames licked the material of his shirt.

"Wait! Please," Tucker sobbed. "You didn't kill them, right? Both of them are still alive, right?"

Phantom remained unmoved, motionless, expressionless.

"Sam…and Danny?" Tucker choked out.

Something in Phantom's mind snapped. He dropped Tucker and recoiled away from him, as if the mere sight of Tucker was causing him pain. Cringing, holding his head in his hands, he turned furiously to meet Tucker's gaze. "You're wasting my time," he hissed. His eyes flashed with rage. "Stop wasting my time! Stop interfering! Stop getting in the way! Stop ruining my plans! _Stop being involved with my Sam_!" He ended in a shout. Otherworldly screams and shrieks joined his, sending shockwaves through the air straight at Tucker.

Tucker hunkered down on the ground, covering his head with hands, wishing that this wasn't his last moment, and shuddering as he felt the shockwaves close in on him.

And then completely pass him by.

Bewildered by the fact that he was unscathed, Tucker looked up and saw Phantom's horrified expression. Before Tucker could make any sense of what had just occurred, the ghost jumped into the air and disappeared, leaving nothing but a terrifying memory to prove he even existed.

Tucker kept his eyes on the pavement as he slowly brought himself to his knees. His chest stung and his neck was throbbing much harder than before. But he was alive. He winced uncomfortably and gazed up at the sky where he had last seen Phantom. What had been the reason for that expression of his? Had an enemy of his been nearby? Or was there more to the ghost than just hatred for all mankind? Did Phantom just save him from his own attack?

Tucker pushed these thoughts aside and hauled himself to his feet. The walk home was slow and painful—not because of his injuries, but because of the guilt weighing him down, eating away at his confidence. He could almost picture the expression on his mother's face now. He briefly thought of placing the blame on Sam for all of this, but knew that wasn't true. The girl was just another victim being played in the hands of a madman. She had nothing to do with the decision he had reached. If Danny hadn't even flinched at the prospect of meeting Phantom, then neither would he.

Tucker slowly opened the door to his house. "Mom?" he called out, weakly. He almost hoped she would be gone, but then, by the time she was back, his resolve would have degraded to the point of no return. He needed to get this off his chest now, before it was too late. Before Phantom decided to target his family to break him down both mentally and physically. "Mom, are you there?" His voice was raspy. He leaned against the wall, rubbing his clothed neck. He was so exhausted.

"Tucker? Is that you? Oh my—I told you not to go out!" His mother rushed to him and lifted his face. "You look horrible. You need to get some rest." Gently, she pulled him into her arms and rocked him back and forth. "My poor dear. I'll make you some soup, all right?" She felt him recoil from her embrace and hit the wall with a thud. Her eyes widened when she saw blood trickling down his lips. "Tucker? Tucker!"

"M-mom." He coughed, the red fluid trickling from his mouth. Gingerly, he pulled on the collar of his shirt and motioned for his mom to come closer. "P-phantom," he stammered, keeping his eyes on the floor. He heard his mother's cry of anguish as she saw the grotesque bruises and blisters that lined his neck. "He has Danny and Sam. I tried to stop him."Tucker felt tears form beneath his closed eyes. "But I couldn't find them."

He clenched his fists and pressed himself further against the wall. "They're in trouble, Mom. I'm in trouble! Phantom's after us!" He covered his face with his hands and sunk to the floor. "I don't know what to do. I don't want you to get hurt." He brought his legs up and rested his head against them.

"Tucker." Slowly, she reached out towards him, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. "Your father and I will be fine."

"Don't touch me." Tucker shook his shoulders and leaned his head back against the wall. "I'm leaving, Mom. I'm going to find somewhere else to stay. Then Phantom might not come after you." He glanced at her face momentarily. Despite his efforts to ignore the tears falling from her wide eyes, he couldn't fight back the guilt that had been hanging over him all morning. He was such a terrible person. Would it not have been better to have lied to spare her this pain?

His mother knew well that Phantom would come for her son again. But she was torn between her selfish human nature and her concern for Tucker. Should she let him stay or go?

Thankfully for her, Tucker's mind was made up. He was leaving no matter what protests fell from his parent's lips. "Can you get me some water?" he murmured, attempting to distract her. "I feel like I'm on fire."

His mother backed away, wiping her eyes, and stumbled into the kitchen. Silently, she retrieved a glass from the cupboards and filled it with water from the faucet. Her eyes were dull and lifeless. She wished that meeting her husband had left early in the morning to attend was already over. She wanted him to talk some sense into Tucker. She was terribly frightened. Who wouldn't be? But she didn't want her son to be on his own, without the guidance or love of his parents. He was still so young. "Do you really have to leave? Can't you stay here? Your father can think of something. I'm sure of it! We'll keep Phantom away!"

"Mom! Stop!" Tucker croaked, rubbing his throat tenderly. "Please. I've already made up my mind." He picked himself up off the floor and reached out his hand. "Can I? Please?" He couldn't help himself. The pain was too great. He knew his mother was disappointed and that he should've said something comforting, but the throbbing in his neck was getting worse. He longed for anything that would help soothe the ache. He took the glass she held out for him and drank it all in one gulp. The pain subsided for a moment, but he knew it would return soon.

He needed to find Danny and Sam.

He handed his mother the glass and headed to his room. "Tell Dad that I… Well, I—"

"I know. I'll tell him." The words were blunt and without feeling. Tucker cringed before making his way up the staircase. He felt awful that he was leaving, but he knew that he would feel even worse if he stayed. He was _saving_ them. He was keeping them out of Phantom's reach, hopefully. He could survive on his own, for as long as Phantom saw fit. Maybe the ghost would forget about him.

It was a faint beam of hope, almost translucent, but it made him smile as he packed away his belongings, taking one final look at the room he'd grown up in. There was no turning back now.

Or so he thought.

"Tucker Foley, is it? I hear you're looking for someone."

A chill ran down Tucker's spine. He turned around slowly and came face to face with glowing red eyes and a sharp-toothed smile.

"I also hear you have a bone to pick with a certain green-eyed ghost." The smile widened. "Care to join me?"


	10. Unstable

Chapter Nine

_Unstable_

Something was wrong with him. It was explicitly clear to him now as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn't able to maintain any sort of stability, physical or emotional. Somewhere along the line the scale had been tipped. The balance of his fragile psyche had been lost. He'd fallen too far into something he knew very little about. After living on the threshold of life and death for so long, he'd inadvertently, unknowingly taken a turn that led him somewhere he didn't want to be. Yet he had no clue as to when he'd meandered down that path.

Something was very wrong.

The accursed mirror reflected his glowing green eyes and pitch black hair for one second, then changed to show dull blue eyes and snow white hair the next. At one point his eyes were both different colors, and a streak of white ran down the front of his black hair.

What was happening to him?

His entire body trembled as the transformations overtook him. He gripped the bathroom sink tightly in his hands, gritting his teeth, willing his body to do as he wished. He needed to be human. _Human_.

But as soon as he managed to become his blue-eyed, black-haired self, painful shudders ran up his spine and he turned back into Phantom.

It was as if his body was at war. The ghost half and the human half were both fighting for control, fighting for complete domination.

The same thing had happened to him twice already. Earlier when he was talking to Sam, he really hadn't wanted to leave her as he did. He'd had so many things he'd wanted to ask, to talk about. He'd had so many new feelings coursing through him that he wanted to explore. But he'd felt a transformation coming on. Chills had started envelop him as he'd sat beside her on the couch. Purposely, he'd left her side, concentrating on warmth and solidity more intensely than ever before. She'd followed him where he went, breaking his concentration. So he'd had to leave Sam by herself in that house even though all he wanted was to spend every second of the day with her. It was torture.

Then again with Tucker, he'd felt the same sensation of being on the verge of transforming. Furious and agitated, his powerful emotions had triggered an enormous amount of energy and he'd unknowingly used the ghost wail against Tucker. It wasn't until Danny saw Clockwork hovering behind Tucker's curled up form that he realized what he'd done. Realized the dire mistake he had made.

Gasping for breath, Danny closed his eyes to his ghostly reflection and tried again to turn into his human counterpart.

Blue eyes. Black hair. Blue eyes. Black hair. Human.

He opened his eyes and a strangled cry tore out of his mouth as he saw Phantom staring back at him. The ghost in him was winning the struggle. Of course now, when he needed his human half the most. He covered his eyes with his arm and stumbled backwards. His back hit the wall and he slid down to the floor, breathing heavily, fighting back the frustrated scream that was lodged in his throat, squeezing back the angry tears.

Ever since he'd taken Sam back to Fenton Works, he'd been feeling off kilter. After so many years of having these human emotions in control, of pushing them back into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind never to see the light of day as he relied solely on anger and hate, he was overwhelmed by the feelings that were now bubbling up within him. He was overwhelmed and disconcerted over the hold Sam had on him. In just that one morning, something in him had been altered. The floodgates had been opened and all these human emotions assaulted him. There had been desperation, impatience, concern, and anxiety as he'd watched Sam toss and turn restlessly on the couch. He'd been so worried, so irrationally terrified, that she wouldn't wake up. When she'd finally woken, he'd been so relieved, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He'd felt embarrassment, longing, and an unshakable sense of peace and tranquility as he'd spoken to her. How many years had it been since he'd felt so at ease? Too many. But the peace had left him once Sam was no longer by his side. Guilt and horror replaced it as he'd confronted Tucker.

What was he to do if he lost one part of him? Be it ghost or human, how would he go on? He needed both. He was both.

Wasn't he?

He brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, and leaned his head back against the wall. Breathing deeply, in and out, he forced himself to calm down. This was not the time to overreact. There was only one question that needed to be answered.

Was losing one half of him really that bad?

The immediate answer that came to mind was yes. It would alter his plans.

But plans could be altered. The conversations he wanted to have with Sam would simply have to be postponed until she warmed up to his ghost half. If she ever did. That was the main problem with altering his plans. To Sam, Danny was almost a friend, but Phantom was still an enemy.

Still, plans could be altered. So what else would prevent him from being a full ghost? Tucker, obviously. But he already thought Danny had been kidnapped so, again, not that big of a deal.

But losing his humanity would mean losing everything he had just had with Sam. As a ghost there was only so much he could do with her, share with her. He couldn't be connected to her in the same way as a human would.

Phantom heaved a sigh and rubbed his aching temples. Things rarely ever went his way for some reason. Even so, the situation he found himself in now was surreal. He never would have expected it. Having to choose between two halves of one whole. Essentially having to start his life, or afterlife, all over again and become accustomed to a new way of living. To be forced to lose all that had been his downfall and his greatest strength. Maybe it had been fated to happen. His ghost powers had been the result of an accident after all. Maybe this was a natural occurrence. It was still unfair.

He wanted to be close to Sam. As close to her as he was earlier. No, even closer. This morning had changed everything. This was no longer a game. It was so much more. Seeing her cry like that, so broken-hearted, so despondent, so lost, it hadn't brought him any pleasure. He hadn't gained anything from breaking down her mental defenses and revealing the angry, lonesome soul underneath. He'd practically won the game. He'd broken her down. But seeing her cry like that had been sickening, knowing he'd been the cause.

He didn't want to make her cry. Anything but that.

What he wanted was her. All of her. Every inch of her. Her entire being. Heart, soul, and body. Every smile and frown was to be his alone. Every word from her lips was for his ears alone. Every kiss and embrace was his. He wanted her to belong to him.

Phantom closed his eyes and pictured Sam in his mind, smiling at him. He pictured the two of them, two normal humans, together. His own mouth curved upwards in a smile at the image. Her presence, ethereal or tangible, was soothing. The moment was ruined when a blue mist streamed out of his mouth.

His eyes snapped open to the sight of the elderly Clockwork sitting atop the bathroom sink. His long beard nearly touched the tiled floor. His red eyes were narrowed. "I told you not to get involved with Samantha Manson. See what became of it?" he said scathingly. "Your obsession has driven you to this already. You nearly killed your best friend."

"It's not an obsession," Phantom muttered, glaring at the floor. Was it? That word just didn't match what he felt towards her.

"Then what is it?"

He wasn't exactly sure what it was he felt towards her. Was it obsession? Possessiveness? A child coveting something precious? "I don't know," he said softly. It's not like he had many dealings with humans of the female persuasion, especially not in this way.

Clockwork shook his head and sighed. "Teenagers," he muttered, idly toying with his staff as he shifted into his adult form. "I know you won't listen to me if I ask you not to get any closer to her, so instead I'll request something else of you."

"Like what?"

Clockwork smiled. "Next time you can't change back into a human, come see me."

Phantom looked up at him, puzzled. "I already can't change back—"

"Look in the mirror," Clockwork said, moving to the side.

He frowned and slowly lifted himself to his feet. There he was. His blue-eyed, black-haired self looked back at him from the glass. Danny let out a shaky sigh, relieved. "Do you know why that happened to me?" he asked Clockwork absently, spinning around on his heel to the spot he'd last seen the ghost occupying. But Clockwork had already left.

Danny stared blankly at the empty spot in the bathroom, wondering if the time ghost was just fooling with him or if he was actually trying to be of some assistance. Or maybe this was just all part of the plan, since Clockwork knew all that had happened and would happen next, and everyone was merely acting as his pawns throughout history.

If that was the case, then there was no reason to fight against the inevitable. He had free reign over his actions. He would do as he pleased.

He left the bathroom and paused at the top of the staircase. His shoulders were tense and he tried to focus both on his body, in case another transformation occurred, and any sounds coming from the first floor. He didn't hear anything. Anger rose up in him immediately, as did a familiar ghostly chill. He leaned over the railing, caught sight of messy black hair and a hand dangling over the side of the couch, and relaxed. She was still there, wrapped up in a blanket, sleeping. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and quickly phased through the floor, figuring that if he used his ghost powers a little, the urge to transform would disappear. As he drew closer to the couch, he heard her soft breaths and a faint smile graced his lips. "This is the second time, Sammy."

Danny knelt down in front of her, examining the curve of her cheekbones, sweeping his eyes down her neck, shoulders, chest, hips, and legs. He reached out his hand, his palm hovering above her face. Thinking back on his horrid kiss earlier, he swallowed thickly and moved his hand away. It hadn't been one of his finest moments. But he'd just wanted to kiss her so badly. He hadn't a clue as to what he was doing at the time. He just did it. He hadn't seen anything wrong with it.

He sighed and stood up again. If he continued staring at her like that, he would probably succumb to his humanly urges again. She was just so…beautiful.

Danny swallowed again, suddenly feeling extremely nervous. If kissing was out for now, then maybe something else would be more appropriate? Besides, she was even prettier when she was angry.

Slowly, so as not to wake her, Danny lifted Sam into his arms, turned, and sat down on the couch, cradling her like a cat. His face grew warm, which was good. It meant he wasn't in danger of going ghost. But also, not so good. Since Sam started shifting around in his lap, making it incredibly warm in the room and incredibly hard for him to breathe properly.

Her eyebrow twitched at the sound of his harsh, shaky breaths and he felt her hand gently grab the collar of his shirt. "Mmmph. Danny?" she groaned, forcing her eyes open. "What time is it? And…why am I sitting on top of you?" she growled out dangerously, although she did nothing to remedy the situation herself.

Seeing her expression, equal parts drowsy and embarrassed, made him laugh. "You're cute."

"I'm highly offended by that," she snapped, then wiggled uncomfortably. "And let go of me already." She braced her palms behind her on the couch and proceeded to slide herself away from him. The loss of her warmth made him frown. She took a deep breath and rested her chin on her knees before meeting his eyes. "What were you doing all this time? It's been over two hours."

His frown deepened. "Napping," he mumbled.

"Oh." She didn't question him further. He wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or worried about that. She lowered her gaze and picked idly at the fraying edges of the seat cushions. "I wonder if Tucker is all right," she murmured.

"He's fine," Danny blurted out.

Wide-eyed, Sam looked at him. "How do you know?"

He shrugged. "I just do. Tucker's my friend."

"Phantom might've kidnapped him."

"I doubt it," Danny muttered. "If that really happened, Phantom would already be here, using Tucker as ransom."

Sam's skeptical expression turned pensive. "Is that what he did with you?" she asked in a hesitant tone of voice.

Danny furrowed his brows in confusion. "What?"

"Is that what Phantom did? To you and your family?"

His eyes widened. The memories assaulted him, the ones he always tried so hard to keep at bay. Their screams and terrified faces as they faced him as Phantom and thought it would be the last sight they would ever see. His mother's tears, his sister's cry as they realized Danny Fenton was lost to them forever, stolen by the ghost. The look of severe hatred in his father's eyes—a look that didn't suit the jovial, simple-minded man.

Danny squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away, away from the sights and the sounds that tormented him. He held his face in his hands. His body trembled, from the memories, and from the cold that washed over him, offering sanctum and liberation from it all. Forever.

"Danny?"

Her voice barely reached him through the haze and the cold. What about her? He didn't want her to hate him. He didn't want to have to restart. Not yet. Not yet! He couldn't give in now.

Her hand touched his shoulder. He grabbed it, held it tightly in his, sucking her warmth away. He heard her shifting, felt something warm being draped clumsily over top of him, felt himself being pulled down to rest his head in her lap.

The sensation of her hands running through his hair sent tingles down his spine. He glanced up at her, bewildered by this sudden development in their relationship, but pleased all the same.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up," she murmured. She refused to look down at him, but he could still see the pink tint in her cheeks.

He wanted to kiss her so badly at that moment. But he flushed and quickly averted his gaze to the coffee table instead. No need to ruin things with her now. Aside the fact that it was highly amusing.

He took a deep breath and then sighed. "It's all right," he whispered, now that he'd gotten his transformation under control. He huddled underneath the afghan she'd given him, bringing it up around his mouth, attempting to distract himself from his wandering thoughts. He still really, _really_ wanted to kiss her. It was probably a pride thing at this point, since his first kiss with her had been a disaster. She'd been slipping in and out of consciousness during that time. He'd thought he would wake her. Or maybe this really was obsession, as Clockwork had said.

No matter. He wanted her. He was going to have her. That's all that counted.

Danny risked a peek at her. Despite the soothing movements of her fingers in his hair, she looked anything but calm. Her cheeks were bright red, her eye was twitching. She nibbled at her bottom lip until it was colored a rosy hue.

He smiled and laughed, catching her attention.

"What?" she grumbled, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"You're being uncharacteristically kind," he mumbled into the afghan covering his mouth.

Her eye twitched again. "Well, you're being characteristically rude."

"Oh?" He turned, lying flat on his back with his head still resting on her thighs. He lifted his right arm, grabbed the back of her neck, and pulled. Her lips crashed down on top of his, cutting off whatever she had been about to say.

She froze. Not moving, not breathing. It wasn't even really a kiss. Their lips were just pressed together. Awkwardly so. But he didn't dare do anything more, afraid that she would shut down and make everything he'd gone through to be here like this with her now absolutely pointless. Her eyes were wide open, staring down at him like he was an alien from another planet.

It was so extremely awkward. The heat of his embarrassment traveled all the way from his fingertips to his toes. She hadn't hit him yet. Shouldn't he take that as a good sign?

He cupped her face in his hands and gently pushed her head back, just far enough for him to see her eyes clearly. Her lips were parted. Strands of her disheveled black hair fell across her face. Her look of utter confusion, embarrassment, and surprise was unbearably, unbelievably arousing.

Danny could not wait any longer. He pulled her face back to his and caught her lips in a _real _passionate kiss. Mouth moving sensually against hers, he pulled her closer and closer, crushing their lips together in a fit of total lust. He was slightly disappointed when she didn't respond to his ministrations, but he kept going, simply because her lips were soft and lush. Because he was ravenous and she was his delicacy.

He released her face and slowly pushed himself up on his hands, not breaking the kiss. He forced her back against the couch, sat up on his knees beside her. She tilted her head back to accommodate him. Risking a quick peek, he saw that her eyes were closed and smiled against her lips. His hands moved of their own accord, pushing through her hair to rest at the back of her head, sliding down the front of her chest between her breasts, making a path that ended at the side of her waist. She trembled and gasped, instinctively trying to lean back but found she was trapped between him and the couch. With her lips parted beneath his, his immediate thought was to deepen the kiss, to taste her, be connected to her in a way no one else ever would.

Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders and firmly, reluctantly, pushed her away.

Her breaths came out as pants from trembling lips. She narrowed her eyes, making an effort to look angry. It was a wasted attempt, considering he was the one who'd ended what she could have easily stopped herself at any time. He grinned lazily at her as she stammered, "W-what was that for?"

He simply couldn't resist. "Practice," he said.

Her blush darkened. "Practice?"

He nodded, still smiling.

Sam's lips twisted into a scowl. This time she really did look angry. "Next time practice on someone else!" she snapped. She put her hands on his chest and shoved him away from her.

Danny fell back against the armrest, laughing. His eyes followed her as she stood up and walked behind the couch. He would have liked to imagine that she was upset because she thought the kiss was nothing more than a hoax. That she actually had grown to like him and was disappointed that he didn't seem to feel the same way. But somehow, he just couldn't picture it. Could she really have fallen for him so quickly? It didn't seem like her. But then, that had been his goal all along. He certainly couldn't say he was disappointed if that were true.

"You're not upset, are you?" he asked teasingly.

She whirled her head around to glare at him. "Of course I'm upset," she snarled. "You expect me to live here with you when you keep doing things without my permission? You're just making me want to leave and figure out how to avoid Phantom on my own!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation.

Danny frowned, feigning a hurt expression. "It's just compensation."

"Compensation?" she spat the word out as if it was toxic.

"For living here. I need some sort of rent, don't I?"

Sam's eye twitched. She scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Let me go to the bank then. I have more than enough to _compensate_ you."

He smiled. He'd got her. Hook, line, and sinker. "How is that possible? You don't have a job, right? And your parents…" he trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air.

Sam didn't look at him. She turned to lean back against the couch and lowered her head, hiding her face behind her hair. "Just trust me," she muttered.

"Because you're rich?"

She sighed and glanced at him reproachfully. "Why ask something you already know the answer to?" she retorted.

"For confirmation."

She sighed again. "It's an inheritance. From the inventor of the deli toothpick cellophane-twirling device."

Danny nodded. He'd been right about her being wealthy. It wasn't that much of a shock once he put all the facts together. But what he really wanted to know was something else entirely. "So, your parents?"

Sam glanced at him, her eyes guarded. "What about them?"

"With all that money, they just…left?"

She turned her head away from him again. "I respected your wishes and stopped talking about your family. Why don't you respect mine?"

"Sorry," Danny mumbled. "It's just… I know the reason. In my situation." He had to force the words out without letting his mind wander back to his family and that accursed day. If his thoughts lingered there too long, he'd turn back into a ghost and ruin everything. "I was just curious about the reason for yours," he said. "Sorry."

His words seemed to take her by pleasant surprise. She stared at him for a moment, as if gauging his sincerity and debating how far to go. He'd expected her to murmur a thank you and then drop the entire conversation. Instead, she surprised him by telling her story.

"It was about…two years ago," she began slowly, drawing the words out from somewhere deep inside her. "It was a Friday, so I was at school. I hadn't been there long. We'd just recently moved to Amity Park. My parents, they ran a small high-end business along with managing the cellophane-twirling affairs. They had a clothing line of all these ridiculously puffy dresses and sweater vests and whatnot. The kind of stuff they liked to wear. They were in the process of opening up boutiques around the country. On Friday they got a call from some big business mogul, an entrepreneur overseas they'd been discussing terms with. The tycoon wanted them to hop on a plane right away. So they did. Those were the kind of people my parents were. And I came home to an empty house. Aside from the butler and the maids on duty. My parents had left a note explaining their absence, saying they'd be back later. Two months passed with no news. I got an e-mail once, saying things were looking good and they were meeting with other companies to discuss getting their clothing line in malls and supercenters. They were so caught up in their business, so happy about it, that what was I supposed to do? Beg them to come home because I was lonely?

"My parents and I never had the strongest relationship. My mom always tried to get me to wear those ridiculous clothes of hers. They were always so bright and cheerful and obnoxiously optimistic that I couldn't stand it. I was the dark one. Just to spite them, I dressed and acted exactly the opposite of what they wanted from me. I didn't care about what other kids said about me, labeling me a goth and all that. It was a message to my parents that they couldn't control me. That I was independent. I didn't expect them to take it so literally…"

Danny watched her silently. Her demeanor was so calm, so stoic as she spoke. Yet this was the reason for her anger. This was the cause of the sharp look in her eyes, the reason she hid in the back of the classroom, the reason she stayed in an apartment, the reason she didn't want anyone to get too close. He just wanted to shake her. Get her to scream about how frustrating it was and how hurt she felt and how much she hated herself for apparently just not being good enough. But instead she hid behind that icy mask he knew all too well and spoke as if this whole occurrence had no meaning.

"They decided to take a vacation, rewarding themselves for a job well done," Sam continued. Her gaze was fixed on the floor. "It was the last e-mail they ever sent. They told me, _we know you won't mind since you hate the beach and being out in the sun. _As if that could somehow excuse their actions. But, like I said, those were the kind of people my parents were. I had made a point of expressing my independence, so they gave it to me in the strictest sense of the word. I never heard from them again. I left the butler in charge of the house when I moved out. Told him he could let his family stay there with him, if he wanted, or even rent out the rooms. My parents had made it so that his pay still went through every two weeks, but it wouldn't hurt to have more cash. And I didn't want him to be all alone in that house."

Danny sat up on his knees on the couch and crossed his arms over top of it. He leaned forward, trying to see her face. Her eyes were expressionless. "So you never went back?" he asked softly.

She nodded her head in response.

"Then you're a lot like me," he murmured, shifting his eyes to the staircase. "Being here brings back too many memories."

That caught her attention. "Then why are you here?" she asked.

He met her gaze. "Because of you."

Sam's eyes widened. Her mouth opened like she was about to say something, but then she puckered her lips and turned away. "Is it all right if I shower and borrow some clothes?" she asked, completely disregarding his statement. "I feel gross."

He sighed. Even though he still wanted to spend time with her, he should give her whatever comforts she wanted while she was here. That would solidify his growing relationship with her. He also knew that all she wanted right now was some time alone. "You'll probably find some clothes in the far left room," he told her. That was his sister's room. He'd left it untouched, just like his room, since they held the most vivid memories. "The second door down from that is the bathroom." Another room he avoided. His parents' room and bath were the only places in this house that he didn't hold any personal memories of. And they were places he had rarely found his parents in anyway. So they were the safest rooms for him to be in right now, since his transformations—and his whole state of mind, really—were so unstable.

"Thanks," Sam muttered and she made her way up the stairs without sparing him a glance.

Danny waited to hear the shower start running before he went upstairs too. He might as well clean up at the same time so that as soon as she was done he could spend the rest of the day with her. It was only a little past noon. He wanted to take advantage of every minute.

He stepped under the fall of warm water, letting it run through his hair and down his back. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Hearing Sam's story had brought to mind the postcard he'd taken from her apartment the other day. He still had it inside the medicine cabinet, the postcard her parents had sent her from Hawaii. There hadn't been a date on it, but judging from her story, it must be rather old. He wondered why she hadn't mentioned it. She'd had the postcard hidden away in a shoebox in her apartment. Maybe she'd forgotten all about it.

Danny sighed, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and let the water wash all his worries away. A temporary moment of imaginary peace.

* * *

Tucker shifted nervously in the soft plush chair he was seated in. The ghost in front of him was nothing short of terrifying. He looked like a vampire with his sharp fangs and striking red eyes. If it weren't for the ghost's sincere attempt at hospitality, Tucker would have been screaming for help and begging to be spared. Also, the ghost's grudge against Phantom was one he shared, though not as passionately. All Tucker wanted was peace, for both him and his family and for Danny and Sam.

"So Danny and Sam are at Fenton Works?" Tucker asked.

"That's what I said," the ghost muttered impatiently. He closed his eyes momentarily, rubbing his temples, and then fixed a red-eyed stare at Tucker again. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. "Will you help me or not? Time is of the essence."

Tucker twisted the cap in his hands, since the ghost had demanded he take it off. "I don't understand. Why do you need—"

"Is it a yes or a no?" the ghost snapped, eyes narrowing.

"But it seems sort of dangerous."

"_Yes or no._"

Tucker gulped and glanced down at his hands. Could he really do this? Was he capable of such a feat? "Will it work? Can you guarantee it?"

The ghost smiled. A devilish smile really. It did nothing to alleviate Tucker's worries and fears. "I guarantee it," the ghost said in a low voice.

Tucker nodded briefly and held out his hand. "Then we have a deal." He just hoped he was making the right decision.

* * *

Sam paced back and forth in the living room, clean and dressed and ready to get on with her life. She'd gotten out of the shower only to find Danny missing, so she'd chosen to venture down into the basement. The place had been a wreck. What had once probably been an amazing laboratory full of ghost technology had been reverted to a dump. Almost all of the machines had been broken. Vandalism, she suspected. The culprit? Phantom, most likely. Though why he wouldn't simply destroy the building was beyond her. There had been newspaper clippings of him strewn across the tiled floor, most torn to shreds or burned so she hadn't been able to get a good look at any of his pictures. She'd scavenged through the wreckage, taking whatever looked useful and not in need of repair. She'd ended up with a small pile on the coffee table that she kept glancing at every so often. The ghost shield belt she'd been wearing early was there too. It would mean she was paranoid if she wore it in a building with its own ghost shield. She didn't want that.

She hated feeling helpless. She hated being cooped up.

Finally, Sam gave up waiting and marched up the stairs. Danny took showers like a girl, for goodness sake. How long did it take for an eighteen-year old male to wash up? What was he doing? Pleasuring himself?

She turned in the hallway and promptly covered her eyes with her hands and screamed with a blush on her face. "You're naked! Why are you naked?!"

She heard Danny make a questioning sound in the back of his throat, as if he hadn't noticed his clothing-less state, and then he chuckled. "I told you I do that," he said matter-of-factly.

"And you don't make exceptions for females in the house?" she said despairingly. How was she supposed to live with this guy? This was sexual harassment! Granted, he did actually tell her this. But she hadn't taken him seriously! She'd thought it was another joke of his!

"Sorry. But no," he said. There wasn't even a hint of shame in his voice. "Do you mind going back downstairs? I'm going to get dressed now."

"Yeah. Fine. Whatever," she muttered from behind her hands. "Just warn me next time you're taking a shower. I'll steer clear of this hallway like the plague."

"All right," he said cheerfully.

Sam stomped her way down the stairs, muttering angrily. "Stupid, idiotic, naked fool." Her face got unbearably warm. She pressed her hands against her cheeks. "Stop it, Sam," she told herself sternly. But it wasn't working. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. She tried to push all thoughts of Danny aside but failed miserably. It was that stupid kiss. That stupid kiss had started it. The blushing and heart throbbing and embarrassment. Or was it before that? When she'd rested him in his lap and ran her fingers through her hair? She'd tried to convince herself it was just out of empathy. He'd been upset about his family after all. She completely understood that. But had that been the real beginning of it all?

"Stop it, Sam. You're better than this," she mumbled. "So much better. Grandma didn't raise you up to be a wimp and a coward who ran away from her problems. Danny is nothing. Absolutely nothing. He's not even a real friend. He's just a nuisance. A temporary nuisance. I won't be living here forever."

She slumped down onto the couch, fighting to push the image out of her head. It was horrifying. Disgusting. Danny walking around like that. Water dripping from his hair like that. His pale skin.

"Ahh!" Sam yelled and threw herself face-first onto the seat cushions. "Get out of my head! Get out, get out!"

"Everything all right here?" Danny asked, chuckling softly at her expense.

She jumped up onto her knees on the couch and glared at him. He was wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans and had his towel over top of his head as he rubbed his hair dry. She tried to engrave the image of him wearing clothes into her mind, to replace the other image, but it didn't work. Quickly she turned her head away from him and let out a groan. "I hate you."

"And I obviously don't hate you," he said in a low voice, practically purring like a cat. When she glanced at him questioningly, he lifted his eyebrow and smirked.

Sam gasped—catching his meaning—and gritted her teeth, trying to fight back the blush she knew was creeping onto her face. She probably looked like a ripe tomato. And he just laughed and winked at her suggestively.

"You know, you're making it extremely difficult for me to stay here. Ghost shield or not," she hissed, gripping the sweatpants she was wearing tightly in her fists.

Danny raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry. You're just making it extremely difficult for me to control myself."

"Self-control is a virtue," she snarled.

"One I don't possess."

"You hardly possess any."

"Debatable." He leaned over the back of the couch and caught sight of her pile of ghost-fighting technology. "You went into the basement?" he asked. His eyes were wide, disbelieving.

"While I was waiting," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. The black shirt she was wearing was a little too low-cut for her taste. "Is any of this useful? I need to go to the bank and buy some essentials, you know. I can't stay cooped in here forever."

"Useful for what?" he asked absently. He didn't seem to be all that focused on her anymore. His eyes were glued to the items on the table.

"For Phantom. Wearing the belt might keep me safe from him, but it puts others in danger. I'd rather you wear it and I'll just use a weapon to defend myself."

"Sam—"

"No buts," she told him sternly, holding her finger up as if that alone would deter him. "Thank you for giving me the belt, but I don't want it anymore. You can have it back."

"Sam," Danny said again.

She met his gaze and saw his brows furrowed and his forehead beaded with sweat. "Danny?" she whispered. She reached for his hand. It was icy cold. She gasped and flew up from the couch, taking both his hands in hers. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "Just give me a minute."

He didn't get a minute. The doorbell rang as soon as the words left his mouth. "Don't answer it," he ground out behind a clenched jaw. The doorbell continued to ring. Then whoever it was started pounding on the door.

"Danny? Sam? Are you in there? Let me in!"

It was Tucker.

Danny and Sam shared a look. It was Sam who ran to the door. "Tucker!" she cried out happily at the sight of his face. She grabbed his arm and yanked him inside so that she could shut the door right away. "Tucker! I'm glad you're all right!" She practically jumped on top of him, squeezing him in a hug.

Tucker winced and quickly pushed her off. "D-don't get so close!" he exclaimed, hugging his arms as if for protection. "B-but thanks. I've been better though," he mumbled. His voice was raspy. He tried to keep his distance from her, but she grabbed his shoulders to keep him still, ignoring his protest.

Sam held him at arm-length and looked him over. He fidgeted nervously beneath her scrutiny, pointedly avoiding her eyes. His face looked pale. His shoulders were trembling. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater with a pair of shorts. Not odd for some people. But odd for Tucker, in her opinion. She grabbed his collar and tugged on it.

Tucker let out a shout and backed away from her, breathing heavily. "D-don't do that, Sam. It's, uhh, sexual harassment."

Shame hit her then. Total shame. "Phantom did something to you, didn't he? Because I used you to keep him away."

Tucker held out his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm fine, Sam. Look at me. I'm fine. You didn't do anything wrong," he said, smiling at her gently, but sadly.

Sam let out a sigh and held her suddenly throbbing head. "So then, why are you here? If you're not worried about Phantom?" she asked.

"W-well, I saw the ghost shield running so I thought maybe Danny was here," he mumbled.

"He is." Sam lifted her head and pointed in the direction of the couch behind Tucker, but then she noticed that Danny wasn't there anymore. "He was there a second ago. Maybe he went upstairs. But why would he do that?"

Tucker looked upset, but he did his best to hide it. "My being here probably just brought up some bad memories. He doesn't really like this place," he said dismissively. "What's all that on the table?"

"Some ghost stuff I found in the basement."

Tucker rummaged through the pile, _ooh_-ing and _ahh_-ing at things he recognized. "Most of this is pretty useless. Except this." He held out a small metallic wristband that had what looked like a miniature ray-gun on top of it. "It's a Fenton Wrist Ray." He slid it across the table to her. "Just aim and press the trigger and you should be good."

"Um, thanks," she said. "But I don't need it when I'm in here."

"Oh, right." Tucker laughed nervously and looked through the little pile again. "So was there anything else downstairs? I could probably find some other gadgets for you."

She shrugged. "You could try searching for something, but a lot of the equipment is destroyed."

"Okay," Tucker said, standing up. "You should check on Danny while I'm searching."

Sam gave him an exasperated look. "If you say so. But I have some stories to tell about him when you're done."

Tucker laughed again. It sounded so harsh and fake. "I'm sure you do," he said, then swiftly made his way out of the room and down to the basement.

Sam watched him leave. He was acting strangely. He seemed extremely nervous. He didn't want to be near her or touching her in any way. His first thought was looking for weapons instead of going to make sure his best friend was all right. His best friend whom he'd said he'd come here to see.

But maybe this _was_ normal for Tucker. Maybe he was trying to give Danny his space. She hadn't even known either of them for a week, so she could easily be wrong about him. But her gut told her she wasn't. Phantom had done something to Tucker. She knew it.

Sam was about to follow him down into the basement when something caught her eye. The light coming in through the living room windows seemed brighter somehow. As someone who'd been accustomed to dark places growing up—as in her room since she'd always kept the curtains drawn—she knew that the light had indeed brightened. And in a split second too. That was unnatural. It was almost as if…

The ghost shield had been deactivated.

She ran to the window to investigate, desperately hoping she was wrong, then heard a loud crash coming from upstairs.

"Danny!" she gasped. Sam sprinted up the stairs two at a time and skidded to a stop in front of what she imagined was his bedroom. She tried to open the door but it was locked. "Danny?" she shouted, pounding on the door. There was no response.

She went to the room at the end of the hall. The master bedroom. The light in the bathroom was on. "Danny?" she called out. Her heart thundered in her ears. Maybe it was intuition or maybe it was just her imagination getting the better of her and throwing things out of proportion. But she felt, simply felt, that something was wrong. The same feeling she'd had with Tucker, only more intense. "Danny?" she said again.

When she entered the bathroom, she discovered the source of the crash. The mirror had been broken. Spots of blood and some sort of green slime dotted the glass shards on the floor and in the sink.

"D-danny?" she stammered. A cold sweat seeped out of her pores. She held her arms close to her body to hide her shivering. "Danny?" her voice came out a meek whisper.

"Sammy."

The sound of an otherworldly voice echoed throughout the empty bathroom, bouncing from wall to wall and piercing the fabric of her being so that she was reduced to a trembling, gasping, watery-eyed mess. Her skin turned icy and stung.

She should have taken the wrist ray.

She should have taken the stupid wrist ray!

"He's gone," the voice said, almost sadly.

She felt a cold pressure on her hip, her shoulder. Something icy and wet ran over her ear, sending another wave of shivers down her spine. She squeezed her eyes shut, felt the icy wet thing travel down from her ear to her neck, felt a sharp nip on her collarbone, and then the pressure lifted. The cold concentrated in front of her. She felt it raise her chin. But she refused to open her eyes. She knew exactly what she would see, face to face for the first time.

She sucked in a breath of frigid air and released it shakily, hardening her resolve. Tucker was still here. If she was going to do anything, then she was going to protect him. She opened her eyes.

And met with nothing but air.

Her sharp gasp echoed in the bathroom. Glancing around, she still saw nothing. Maybe all the stress was getting to her. That was it. And she was hungry too. She hadn't eaten since last night.

Slowly, she backed out of the bathroom, her eyes still glued to it in case she saw something—or someone—appear out of thin air. Had he been there for real? Had she been imagining it?

Or had he gone to the basement where Tucker was?

Sam whirled around.

Terror bubbled up into a scream.

Phantom was right in front of her.

And looming behind him was another ghost.


	11. Checkmate

Chapter Ten

_Checkmate_

In hindsight, it probably hadn't been the best idea for Phantom to disregard the blue mist escaping his lips earlier as the result of his forced transformation from human to ghost. How stupid could he be? Especially after having lived through four years of being both ghost and human, he should have known the mist had always been his body's subconscious way of warning him of imminent danger. Nothing else.

He saw Sam's eyes move from him to something behind him and heard a voice call out mockingly, "Aren't you going to say hello?"

He turned just in time to see a ball of ethereal fire heading towards him. He spun around quickly, throwing out his arms. Sam's horrified face filled his entire field of vision. The ghost ray slammed into his back, hurling him forward into Sam. He crashed to the ground with her held tightly in his arms. Her head hit the doorframe of the bathroom with a loud, painful thud that reverberated throughout his skull a million times over. Her scream filled the air around him.

Phantom clutched Sam to him and glared up at the unidentified ghost, gritting his teeth through the pain. "Who are you?"

"You don't recognize me?" the ghost hissed, voice dripping with conceit. "You really are as weak and as dumb as I was told!" His boisterous cackle echoed in the room. "Clockwork was wrong when he told me to be cautious!"

Phantom's lips curled up in a snarl. Clockwork again. What exactly was the ghost doing, playing with him like this and meddling in his affairs? Phantom stood and released Sam, shoving her back into the bathroom and closing the door on her. The stranger and Phantom had their eyes locked on to one another's—one a bright, piercing blue and the other a glowing emerald green. Phantom held on to the doorknob of the bathroom, felt Sam struggling to open it, and—forcing himself to push all thoughts of her aside for a moment—let energy flow from his palm and melt the knob so she couldn't escape.

"Are you ready to fight fair now?" Phantom sneered.

The other ghost smirked and opened his mouth to reveal a set of sharp teeth. Before he could say anything, Phantom hurled an energy-laced fist through the air and punched him square in the jaw. Green bursts of energy erupted from the collision, leaving a nasty reddish-purple welt in its wake.

Phantom watched smugly as the unidentified ghost fell back, writhing in pain, green ectoplasm dribbling down his chin. His bluish-green chin, much like the color of a familiar ghost's skin. Phantom stomped his foot onto the ghost's neck mercilessly. "I'll ask once more. _Who_ are you?" Phantom growled.

"Who do I look like?" the ghost spat, smirking despite his current position on the floor. He held his hand over his jaw and took a deep breath.

Phantom growled again and looked over the body. Long black hair, blue eyes, bulky arms, blue-green skin. The only person he could think of was Plasmius, aka Vlad Masters, the half-ghost mayor of Amity Park. But this wasn't Vlad, and Vlad didn't have a son. Phantom's curiosity overpowered his anger for a brief moment. He glanced down at the insignia on the side of the ghost's white hazmat suit. The Roman numeral for seven was hidden underneath a mess of thorns and vines. A flaming knife cut through the entire emblem. It was definitely flashy enough to belong to Vlad. He clenched his teeth and glared down at the blue eyes. "_Who are you?_" Phantom snarled.

"I'm smarter than you apparently," the ghost cackled, grabbing hold of Phantom's ankle. "But you can call me Sev." He put his other hand underneath Phantom's knee and, with a devilish smirk, hurled Phantom over top of him and sent him flying through the air.

Phantom collided into the wall, slamming his already wounded back into it, and let out a bloodcurdling scream. He dropped to the floor, heaving and shaking. He tasted ectoplasm. He spit it out and wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. His eyes steadily became unfocused as pain shot through him. His back was being burnt to a crisp, being stabbed repeatedly by jagged-edged swords. That's how bad it felt. He could barely breathe. It was hell just trying to get back up on his feet.

"Sev," he rasped out, cringing. "You're not supposed to be here. This is _my_ domain."

The hulking ghost merely laughed, dusting himself off. "Says who?"

Phantom opened his palms. A sphere of ecto-energy hovered in one, growing larger and larger with his every breath. Diamond shards of ice were held in the other, their sharp edges glistening dangerously. "Says me," Phantom hissed. He threw out the ice shards with a loud, animalistic cry.

Sev yawned behind his hand. As the shards drew near, his body split apart, connected only by a thin trail of spectral vapor. His upper half lifted all the way to ceiling while his lower half remained standing on the floor. The shards flew across the room and shattered on the opposite wall. "Is all you got? This will be boring," Sev taunted. He dodged the sphere of ecto-energy heading for his face and laughed again. "Predictable." From his position at the ceiling, he outstretched his arm and flicked his fingers. Hundreds of shards of ice materialized into the air, faster and more deadly than Phantom's.

Phantom leapt to the side, avoiding the majority of the shards, but a few managed to slice across the skin of his legs. To say he was shocked was an understatement. He'd been under the impression that he was one of the rare few ghosts able to use cryokinetic abilities like manipulating ice. That was how Frostbite from the Realm of the Far Frozen had made it sound. So who exactly was this ghost?

"You're not doing so well, are you?" Sev murmured, suddenly appearing by Phantom's side. Phantom swung out his fist, but the other ghost ducked and launched an ecto-energy disk at his torso.

Muttering a curse, Phantom spread his hands out in front of him and wrapped his fingers around the disk as it slashed his palms, turning it to ice. He hurled it at Sev's face, forcing the ghost to weave to the side and giving Phantom a clear shot with an ice beam. The ice encased Sev's feet, locking him in place. Before he got a chance to release himself, Phantom—gathering a massive amount of ecto-energy around his hands and arms—jumped up and slammed both of his fists down, aiming right for Sev's wide-eyed, open-mouthed face.

There was an explosion of light. Then silence for one sickening moment. Then laughter reverberated throughout the room, growing louder and louder.

Phantom narrowed his eyes, glaring down at the wildly grinning ghost.

"You're _really_ not doing well," the ghost said, ridiculing Phantom as if he were powerless and frail. As if everything he'd done up to now had been a fluke. As if no one had any reason to fear and steer clear of what belonged to him. "Should I give you a handicap?"

Something audibly snapped in his mind. Maybe it was the thought of Sam trapped in the bathroom, or Tucker wandering somewhere below. Maybe it was the thought that despite all his experience and struggles and triumphs and loss, he was still that scrawny little fourteen-year old boy pretending to be something he wasn't. Maybe it was the thought that the house his parents had so painstakingly cared for was being desecrated by this lowlife oaf, their most hated enemy. Maybe it was the thought that Sev reminded him of himself in some convoluted way. But something snapped.

Something snapped.

Sev escaped from the ice holding him down and drifted up to the ceiling. He unleashed a barrage of green ethereal flames from his palms that rained down, striking every inch of the room.

Phantom stood with his head down, eyes raised to stare blankly at the ghost above him. He lifted his arm, creating an energy shield that did little more than protect his face. The fire pelted his shoulders, his back, his legs as he simply stood there, motionless.

Sev's confidence physically wavered. The fiery assault slowed and his expression was one of confusion mixed with rage. "Giving up so soon?" he shouted. "Your precious little human girl will be so pleased!"

A ring of energy burst to life around Phantom's feet, releasing a shockwave of air that extinguished the flames in the room and threw Sev back against the ceiling. Still, he didn't move and he didn't say a word.

The other ghost growled, unsettled by Phantom's behavior. "Not in the mood for talk?" he said, clenching his hands into fists, collecting energy in his hands as Phantom had done before. "Fine. I'll just have to take her away from you!" he roared, eyes blazing, energy gathering around his body like cloak. He rocketed down towards Phantom, beams flying out of his eyes that struck Phantom's shield arm.

Phantom lifted his head, his wrathful eyes opened wide, his teeth bared in a demented grin. The ring of energy around his feet coiled upwards like a group of serpents and lashed out at the oncoming ghost. Sev twisted around the tentacles, turning one to ice, blocking one with his arm, never slowing in his approach.

Quick as lightning, Phantom teleported just above the other ghost and, with a vicious heel kick to the spine, sent him plummeting to the floor straight through the coils of energy. Sev grunted in pain, raising his arms to cover his face from the coils lashing out around him. Just before Sev hit the floor, Phantom teleported below him, grabbed his neck, and threw him against the wall.

A harsh choking sound erupted from Sev's throat. Ectoplasm spilt from his lips. He saw Phantom coming at him and crossed his arms in front of him, putting up a flimsy energy shield. Phantom reared back with his arm in the air and punched right through the shield. With energy sparking around them like fireworks, he punched right through Sev too.

The ghost gasped, made a retching sound, and stared down, terrified, at the arm that was passing through him. "Y-you…" He turned wide, incredulous eyes to Phantom and found no mercy. A ghastly scream ripped through him as he felt his insides solidify, felt his limps drop like weights, felt his eyes grow cold and his vision turn black. Ice climbed up his throat, silencing him forever.

Phantom stared blankly at the block of ice, then, putting his trembling arms out in front of him, shattered it into a million pieces.

Sev, whoever he was, was gone.

Phantom fell to his knees, clutching his arms and gasping. The pain he'd gone through such a tremendous effort to ignore returned with a cruel and savage vengeance. His back, his arms, his hands, his legs, everything was on fire. His vision blurred. Spasms ran through him and he coughed up ectoplasm. The world around him was spinning. But now wasn't the time to give in to fatigue. As much as he wanted to just lie down and sleep his injuries away, he didn't have that luxury.

Bracing his hand against the wall, he brought himself up to his feet, inch by agonizing inch. The bathroom door was in front of him, only a few feet away yet it could've been a mile. He gritted his teeth, took the first step, and hissed. This was going to be a lot more difficult than he had hoped. But he had to do it. He pressed both of his hands against the wall and took another step. Pausing, he breathed in and out through his nose, struggling to keep his gaze clear and focused. He took another step, then another. The cuts across his palms left a trail of ectoplasm behind him.

He had made it halfway to the door when he heard that voice taunt him.

"You look like you didn't do too well. Rough day?"

Phantom's eyes widened. His head snapped up toward the sound. He couldn't believe what he saw. "Sev?"

The ghost simply smiled. "You failed the test. You're going to suffer for that."

Phantom looked from him to the bathroom door. Suddenly everything made sense. "Sam," he gasped.

The ghost's smile widened. "Don't worry. You'll see her soon," he said, his blue eyes shifting to look at something in the hallway.

Phantom craned his neck back to see what it was that had got his attention. To say he was shocked or hurt or confounded by what he saw was an understatement. He was devastated. And there was nothing he could do to avoid what was coming.

Tucker stood by the door with a steely look in his eye and a frown on his face. The Fenton Thermos was in his hands, emitting a beam headed straight towards Phantom. A beam that enveloped him, dragged him away like a vacuum, and sealed him inside the tiny cylindrical container.

Tucker capped the thermos and stared at it in awe, knowing it held the most powerful ghost he'd ever seen. The city's most hated enemy. The source of everything he and Sam had just went through. It felt good, knowing he'd taken the ghost out of the picture. He looked up at the other ghost in front of him with a feeble smile on his face. Even if this particular ghost was on his side, he was still a bit apprehensive. "Well, I did what I was supposed to. Where's Danny and Sam?"

The ghost narrowed his eyes and laughed. "Are you that foolish, human? Did you think we'd let her go?"

Tucker felt like a weight had been dropped onto his shoulders. "W-what do you mean?" he stuttered, shoulders beginning to tremble. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. He'd made the right decision, hadn't he? He'd asked again and again and again to make sure this decision was the best one. This couldn't be happening. "That other ghost said—"

"She'd be safe. As long as Phantom cooperates. We never said she'd be reunited with you."

"W-what about Danny?"

The ghost just smiled again.

Tucker clutched the thermos tightly, glaring at him as furiously as he was able under these harrowing circumstances. "Then you're not getting this!" he shouted. But even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was a futile effort. In the blink of an eye, the ghost teleported behind him, plucked the thermos from his grasp, and threw him to the floor amongst the shards of ice.

Tucker caught a glimpse of the ghost flying through the walls, leaving him all alone in the empty house.

Tucker balled his hands into fists, struggling to keep at bay the frustrated sobs lodged in his throat. His decision had been wrong after all. He'd made a terrible mistake.

He screamed at the top of his lungs.

The sound echoed throughout the room and did nothing more.

* * *

Sam's memory returned to her in flashes. Phantom suddenly appearing in the room, protecting her from the other ghost's attack, locking her in the bathroom. Then that same ghost appeared, the one she'd seen in the room, or at least someone who looked the same. He'd grabbed her, choking her, squeezing the life from her.

She was jolted awake, thrown back into the harsh reality patiently awaiting her return.

The harsh white light in the room made her eyes water. She tried to shield her face with her hands, but heard only the clink of metal. "What?" she gasped, looking up only to find her wrists chained to the wall. When she tried to take a step forward, she realized her ankles were chained as well.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, violently yanking against the chains so that her skin chafed. "Hey! Whoever you are! Let me out of here!" She didn't even know where she was. It looked like a laboratory, kind of like the one in the basement of Fenton Works. Were they planning on making her their next experiment or something? "Hey!" she shouted again. "What are you, a stalker? Or some perverted old man living out his ultimate fantasy? Show yourself! I'm not playing your game!"

A turquoise-skinned ghost appeared in front of her. He looked kind of like the one who'd kidnapped her, except his black hair was shorter and tied back at the neck and his eyes were red instead of blue. "You're annoying," he said bluntly, glaring at her.

She snorted. "Yeah, well, same here. Let me go!"

The ghost shook his head and turned away from her. There was an insignia on the side of his white hazmat suit, a bunch of thorns and a fiery dagger and the Roman numeral ten. He caught her staring and smiled haughtily, sharp teeth peeking out from between his lips. "Admiring the view, human?"

"If by admire you mean trying to use my psychic powers to make you spontaneously combust, then yes," she said dryly. "What do you even want with me? And who are you?"

"I'm Number Ten—"

"Well, that's original," she muttered.

His eyes narrowed. "But they just call me Ten. You're here as an incentive, to keep Phantom under control."

Now that was news to her. "What do you want with him?" And why would she be used as incentive? Phantom wouldn't risk putting himself in danger for a human. Especially not her. But then... Why did he protect her before? It was question she didn't really want to mull over at the moment, considering her predicament.

"You don't need to know," Ten said dismissively, turning away from her again. "Unless…" His eyes took on a mischievous glint. "You don't have feelings for him, do you?" he asked, mocking her.

Sam positively choked on air. "What?!" she shouted, insulted that anyone—even a crazy kidnapper ghost with possibly the stupidest name in the world—would ever suggest such a thing. "I would have to be insane to have feelings for that psychotic piece of trash!"

"Well, it sounds like you're on familiar terms with each other," he murmured slyly.

"If I ever see him, I'll kill him!" she yelled, yanking on the chains again. The metal rattled loudly, echoing in the large room.

Ten's eyes hardened. "Stop being a nuisance," he snapped.

"Then let me go!" she snarled.

Ten approached her, his hand raised as if to strike. She bared her teeth, growling at him, her eyes the epitome of rage and glowing with a violet fire. She fought against the chains, desperately trying to reach him so that she could throttle him herself. His lips turned up in a sneer and he slapped her.

"Humans," he muttered in disgust.

A wide red stain marred Sam's cheek. She turned her head towards him slowly, her eyes practically burning into his skull. "Yeah, I'm human," she said darkly and spit on his boot.

Ten's eyes took on a look like he was ready to kill, but laughter stopped him in his tracks.

"She's so charming, isn't she?" a voice said, quite obviously male and exceedingly arrogant. He came into view, hovering above the floor rather than walking. Sam saw two glittering red eyes staring down at her with black hair spiked atop his head like a Viking headpiece. It would've been comical had he not been a murderous ghost with sharp fangs holding her captive. He wasn't as muscular as Ten or the other ghost, but he definitely looked stronger than the rather sinewy Phantom. She gulped, her mouth suddenly feeling very dry. Her odds were getting worse by the minute. The ghost was illuminated by a faint light, much like Phantom had been for the brief second she'd seen him. His skin was a pasty bluish-green. She found it rather odd that every ghost she'd encountered had skin the color of turquoise, considering Phantom's had been a fair peach. But again, she'd only glimpsed him for a second.

The vampiric ghost leaned toward her, nostrils flaring, white cape brushing against her arms. With a short laugh, he moved away again and gestured for Ten to bring him a chair. He seated himself comfortably in front of her and locked his hands together in front of him. His gaze bore into her, as if searching for something. A flicker of confusion passed over his face. "That boy is an enigma sometimes," he mumbled, shaking his head. "While you're certainly different, your face doesn't leave much to be desired. So how is it that you managed to enthrall him?"

"Who are you talking about?" she asked impatiently.

"You'll see in a moment." The ghost in front of her shook his head again and idly tapped his gloved fingers on the armrest. "What is it, I wonder, that makes you so appealing to him?" He turned his smoldering gaze to hers. "Who are you really?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" she snapped.

He snorted, rubbing his temples as though he suffered a minor headache. "Is cynicism a charm of yours? I'm afraid it's not appealing to me. Though to him, it's a possibility." He lifted his lips in a smirk, sharp canine teeth ready to snap her in half. "I'm Plasmius. Pleasure to meet you…?"

"Sam," she grumbled.

He merely shrugged. "Not an attractive name either."

She raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. "How does being attractive have anything to do with this?"

Plasmius examined her, confusion once again flickering in his stare. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders, flyaway strands clinging to her lips. The baggy clothes she wore gave her scrawny form the illusion of voluptuousness. But it was her eyes—flaring to life in hues of rich lavender and mauve—that were her pièce de résistance. Now that he looked her over again, she wasn't completely mediocre in terms of her looks, her eyes attributing for much of it. But her tongue was quick and sharp. Surely it must've drove Phantom to the brink of madness. How could he tolerate it?

Plasmius sighed. "You don't quite understand, my dear. Attraction has everything to do with this."

"And what exactly is _this_ in the first place? How do you expect me to keep Phantom under control or whatever it is that oaf over there said?" She gestured toward Ten, who narrowed his eyes at her. "You think I can control him with my dashing good looks or something? Think again!"

Plasmius just smiled, shaking his head again. "Just wait and see. Seven and Eight should be on their way here now."

"You have a real penchant for picking good names, you know," Sam muttered sarcastically. "Where are Numbers One through Six?"

"Oh, they were all failures," he said indifferently. "Seven was the first to show any real promise. Eight is almost his exact duplicate except the powers he received differed a bit. Nine is under observation since I believe he may be on the brink of imploding. And Ten is my best result by far."

Sam's eyes widened. She wasn't sure whether being horrified or awestruck was the appropriate response. She settled for a little of both. "Are you saying these guys are experiments? Clones?"

He didn't get a chance to answer her question. A thunderous roar tore through the laboratory, laced with pain and wrath. Plasmius and Ten moved instinctively at the sound, both flying out of the lab and leaving her shackled there to the wall.

"HEY!" she screamed after them, rattling her chains. The silence was her only reply. "Great," she muttered. "Just great. No, don't take me down from here. It's not like my arms are killing me or anything." She let out a frustrated groan. What was she even doing here? All this would never have happened if Phantom hadn't bombarded her mediocre life with his insanity. Was it all some kind of sick joke? The Fates were toying with her, scrutinizing her with withering, ancient eyes grown bored with the world. Was she supposed to _reform_ the sadistic ghost as part of some pre-determined plan for redemption for her black soul?

Just what in the world was going on?

* * *

Phantom shot blast after blast at the Sev-lookalike, ignoring the pain that threatened to engulf him in unconsciousness, ignoring the sting of Tucker's unintended betrayal, ignoring everything except the thought of Sam being tortured in this place. His rage fueled his strength, so potent it was almost as if he hadn't just been engaged in a deadly battle minutes before. Being trapped inside the thermos had given him a few moments to prepare himself and gather the last reserves of his energy, as cramped in there as it was. As soon as he'd felt the familiar tug pulling him back out into the world, he'd started firing away.

No thoughts. No schemes. Just aim and fire.

He saw something move from the corner of his eye and shot at it blindly. Explosions sounded around him, filling the room with translucent clouds of smoke. Electricity crackled and sparked. The light bulbs shattered in a succession of deafening bangs, raining glass above their heads, leaving them in the eerie red glow of emergency backup lights.

He felt the sensation of blue mist leaving his mouth and whirled around, launching a wide beam of ecto-energy that sent the new assailants in a mad rush to the ceiling.

"Eight!" one of them screamed. Phantom followed the sound and let off another ghost ray. "_Augh!_" The ghost plunged through the air, a wounded bird. But only the strong survive. Phantom readied another shot.

"Do you want her to die, Daniel?!" an all too familiar voice yelled down at him, panicked and afraid.

Phantom would have laughed if not for the gravity of the situation. He lifted his head, forcing the full weight of his bloodthirsty gaze on Plasmius. In that single moment of hesitation, that single moment where he knew he held Sam's life in his hands, the other two ghosts assaulted him. One slammed his shoulder blades with a double-fisted swing, sending him tumbling through the air. The other released a whip-like energy blast that cut across his chest like a razor-sharp blade. Ecto-energy rings sliced his arms and legs. A ghost ray struck the gaping wound on his back.

His scream of agony filled the entire room.

With his vision fading in and out, he felt himself being dragged across the floor. Plasmius spoke quietly to the two ghosts, sounding much more commanding than he had before, when he'd feared Phantom would choose to disregard Sam's safety and send all of them on a path to hell.

To think Plasmius would stoop so low as to use Tucker against him and keep Sam hostage, as an incentive for the monster to behave. Whatever it was Plasmius wanted, it was something big, something that warranted putting his life on the line with no actual guarantee of success. Thinking that Phantom would choose to protect Sam over getting revenge was pure conjecture. The fact that he had been right meant nothing. Phantom was going to free Sam. And then he would destroy them all.

They brought him to a small white room. A metal cage sat in the corner on one side. Across from it were a computer console and a huge monitor built into the wall. He knew where this was going already. He was roughly tossed into the cage and Plasmius pressed a button, causing the bars to whir and glow with pink ecto-energy, effectively trapping him inside.

The monitor flickered to life, showing a clear image of Sam chained against a wall in another room. Her head was hanging down and her arms were limp, a picture of defeat. The other two ghosts entered the room she was in and stood in the corner, keeping an eye on her, as if she were somehow capable of escaping on her own. Phantom gritted his teeth, closing his eyes to the scene.

"I didn't give you permission to look away, did I?" Plasmius hissed.

All of a sudden, Sam's howls of pain crackled through the speakers.

Phantom's eyes snapped open and he propelled his body forward, gripping the metal bars tightly in his hands even as they sent electric shockwaves storming through his wounded body. "STOP IT!" he roared.

Plasmius's eyes grew wide and frightened, fixed on the blazing metal bars and the hands wrapped around them. Swiftly, without thinking, he flipped the switch on the remote control in his hand. "Now perhaps you'll listen to me for a change," he said, though there was no force behind his voice.

Phantom stared at him, eyes glinting dangerously, and slowly moved back into the center of the cage. Ectoplasm dripped from his quivering hands.

The sight of that brought back Plasmius's previous self-confidence. A sharp-toothed smile graced his features and he waved the remote in his hand, admiring it. "Now that I have you at my mercy, I suppose you're wondering what it is I want with you and your precocious little human pet."

Phantom didn't respond. His eyes were glued to the screen, watching Sam's labored breathing and the way she ferociously struggled against the shackles that kept her bound. Streaks of blood marred the white skin of her arms. Every drop of blood she lost, he would take one hundred times from the ghosts. Again and again and again until even their insubstantial existences were wiped from memory.

"A little distracted, Daniel?"

Emerald eyes flashed angrily. "A little overconfident, Vlad?" Phantom growled. "If Sev hadn't been aiming for Sam from the beginning, I wouldn't be here."

"Hmph. Speaking of Seven, where is he?" Plasmius muttered, crossing his arms.

Phantom smirked. "He took a break."

"What?"

"He won't be coming back," he mumbled, looking down at his tattered, blistered hands. Manipulating the icy core inside of him, Phantom let a cooling sensation wash over his body, easing the sting of his wounds. He let out a sigh and lifted his gaze to Plamius's again. "I'm curious. What is it you want this time that you'd put your life in my hands?"

Plasmius's red eyes narrowed threateningly. "Your life is in my hands actually," he said in a low voice. "And I plan to use it to my benefit. There's a price on your head, you know. In the Ghost Zone and in Amity Park."

"Tell me something I don't know," Phantom muttered, examining the slash across his chest and using the torn edges of his suit to wipe away any excess ectoplasm.

Plasmius knelt in front of the cage to be at his eye-level. "Even Pariah Dark himself wants your head mounted on a wall."

Phantom paused in his ministrations, staring blankly at the ground. Pariah Dark, the Ghost King? That behemoth was supposed to be locked up. He'd locked him up years ago after Vlad had stupidly tried to steal the Ring of Rage and Crown of Fire to become the new king. He would understand begrudging him for locking him up in that sarcophagus again, but getting revenge would entail being released.

"You let him out?" he asked darkly, glaring up into those red eyes filled with derisive satisfaction.

Plasmius chuckled and shook his head. "He's still locked away. For now. But you're not understanding the most important part of this story. Phantom, the most powerful ghost in history. The one who strikes him off his pedestal will be the one to take his power. The one to take his throne. The one to become the Ghost King for ages and ages to come, until the end of time!"

His words were as ominous as they were baffling. Phantom knew he was one of the most powerful ghosts, but he had no throne. And he was no Ghost King. What was Vlad rambling on about, knocking him off an imaginary pedestal?

Plasmius sighed and stood up, brushing off his legs as if the very air around Phantom was something vile and filthy. "We'll have to patient. All good things come with time." He crossed the room and fiddled with the computer console, zooming in on Sam's expression and the hatred in her eyes. "That look is meant for you as much as it is for me," he jeered, throwing Phantom a taunting grin over his shoulder. He looked back to Sam and put his thumb under his chin thoughtfully. "The child surprises me though. She's either adept at hiding her fears or she has no knowledge of the word. And she's remarkably perceptive! She realized Seven and others were clones right away."

"Sev?" Phantom gasped.

Plasmius spun on his heel, white cape twirling around him, and grinned again. "You didn't realize that, did you? That the ghost you fought was a clone made from both your DNA and mine?"

The blue-green skin, the bright blue eyes, the black hair, the numbered insignia, the cryokinesis. He should've known. It had been clear as day and yet he'd completely missed it. He'd thought of nothing except keeping Sam out of harm and look where that had got him. "How many are there?" he asked.

"The first six were clones of solely your DNA. Five of them didn't survive incubation or testing. The sixth was an insufferable child with no respect for authority who eventually grew unstable. Seven you met, the first experimental fusion of our DNA. Eight is his identical brother of sorts, whom you also met. Nine appears to be growing unstable. And Ten is the one you nearly _eradicated_ earlier."

"Then I only have two more to kill," Phantom whispered. His prospects were looking rather good.

Plasmius scowled and lifted the remote control in his hand. "Then you'll have to listen to the girl's screams for the rest of your miserable life," he said, finger hovering near the switch.

"You wouldn't_ dare._"

"Try me."

Phantom stared Plasmius down with a warning in his eyes, a silent threat that it would be better for all if Sam was left alone. In his peripheral vision, he saw Plasmius's finger, almost as if in slow motion, moving closer and closer to the switch. The fool wasn't going to yield to him, him of all people, the one who brought ancient spirits to their knees. A growl escaped Phantom's lips and he averted his gaze to pink glow entrapping him. If it weren't for the ecto-energy encased around the metal, he would've been free from this cage already and that feigned confidence of Vlad's would've been trampled into non-existence.

Plasmius sighed contentedly. Seeing Phantom stuck in such a hopeless predicament made him impossibly giddy. "I suppose I should leave you alone to lick your wounds, hmm?" he said, exaggeratingly cheerful. "It won't be long now before your life is ruined beyond recognition. Or, wait. Your life is already a mess, isn't it?" He laughed and stepped past the cage, making his way toward the exit. "It was all your own doing though," he added. "I only wish you'd given Maddie to me rather than send her off to that god-forsaken place with that god-forsaken buffoon. I might've spared you for that."

"I didn't do anything to your cat," Phantom retorted.

Plasmius whirled his head around and glared at him, teeth bared in a snarl. "You're in no position to be making quips at my expense. Enjoy these last few moments of solitude. Once I turn you in, I have no say in your fate anymore. That's all up to your enemies." He gestured to the monitor. "And say your goodbyes to your precious _Sam_. You won't be seeing her again either." He made as if the close the door, but Phantom stopped him.

"Before you go," Phantom said softly, his gaze lowered to his hands. "You should know that once I get out of here, our little unspoken truce is over." He raised his head, meeting the ghost's eyes. Seething emerald clashed against anxious red. "I'll hunt you down and make you _suffer_," Phantom hissed.

A shudder ran up Plasmius's spine. He shook his head roughly, dispelling any unpleasant thoughts from his mind, and closed the door.

Phantom sat hunched over, staring at the spot Plasmius had once occupied for a few seconds more, before promptly collapsing onto the floor of the metal cage and slipping into unconsciousness.


	12. To the Slaughter

Chapter Eleven

_To the Slaughter_

Sam's voice was little more than a scratchy whisper after all the times she'd yelled at the two ghosts—no, the two _clones_—standing impassively in the corner of the room. Her wrists and ankles were raw and bleeding. Her arms were steadily becoming numb. Her head was pounding, a thundering racket in her ears. It hurt to keep her eyes open, so she squeezed them closed. If she looked around the room anyway, her vision would just be a dull haze. The lack of food and water was taking its toll on her. If she gave in to the dizziness, if she let herself sink slowly into unconsciousness, there was no telling what the clones would do to her. They watched her like vultures, just waiting for the opportune moment to swoop down and devour their prey. She refused to give them that luxury.

Luckily, there had been no second shock of electricity. It was a relief, since she'd felt as though her insides had been burning up and her heart had lodged itself in her throat, but also disconcerting at the same time. Were they performing some kind of torture tactic? Wait until she nearly succumbed to sleep and then shock her back into hell? Could a human even survive that kind of continual voltage coursing through their body?

And how exactly did they expect to manipulate Phantom through her being chained to a wall? How would that, in any way, affect him? He was a homicidal maniac with a fetish for stalking human prey and watching their sanity crumble. If they asked her opinion, the lot of them were just making giant targets on their heads for Phantom to crush.

Her stomach made a loud, rumbling noise. She cringed and hunched over as far as she was able. She'd known how painful it was to be on an empty stomach, but never actually experienced it for herself. It was terrible feeling, like her stomach was beginning to gnaw at itself in desperation. She felt so weak. If it weren't for the chains holding her up, she would've collapsed on the floor. How long had she been hanging here? It felt like it had been days. But it couldn't have been more than a few hours. It was probably night time. Or maybe it was past midnight.

She wondered how Tucker and Danny were doing. She couldn't bear to think of what might've happened to them.

The sound of a door sliding open reached her ears. She glanced up and saw Plasmius's blurry form approaching her. He had something in his hands, though she couldn't make out what it was through the haze until he was directly in front of her. It was a tray of food. Bread and fruit and vegetables and water.

Was she dead or something?

Sam gaped up at Plasmius in disbelief. He had a smile on his face, though it seemed a little forced. "I was going to feed our guest to help him recover, but he demanded I feed you instead."

She stared at him for a moment more before rolling her eyes and lowering her head again. "You really think I'd just eat your food after you chained me up?" she muttered, voice raspy and rough. He leaned forward, bringing the tray back into her sight and she licked her dry lips. Everything looked so tempting. And she _was_ incredibly hungry. Her throat was sore. Eating would give her strength, wouldn't it?

"It's got to be poisoned," she frowned, glaring up at him. "I'm not an idiot."

Plasmius sighed and popped one of the berries on the tray into his mouth. "I have no reason to kill you," he said while chewing. "And I need you alive anyway. I don't need nor want a rampaging madman on the loose, thank you very much." He lifted the tray closer to her. She turned her face away, but her eyes remained glued to it. He took note of it and smiled again, cordial, as if he was the epitome of a gentleman. "Apparently you don't eat anything with a face, so I hope this is to your liking."

Her eyes narrowed. "Who told you that?"

"Phantom." His sharp teeth gleamed between his turquoise lips.

Sam shuddered, rattling her chains. Of course. Of course Phantom would know such a thing about her. After following her around. After keeping an eye on her in school. After watching her in her apartment. There was no respite from a ghost. "Phantom's here?" she whispered.

"Phantom's here," was the response.

So that cry from earlier, the one that had shocked Plasmius and Ten and sent them flying off to another part of the building, had been Phantom. He'd come here. For what purpose?

"What do you still need me for then?" she asked, her brows furrowing. "You wanted Phantom, right? You got him."

"Not that simple," Plasmius insisted, shaking his head. He lifted his hand and started counting off on his fingers. "Phantom needs to know where you are at all times. He has this sick pleasure of watching you. He wants to make sure I don't hurt you. Seeing you gives him a reason to stay here, since he'd like more than anything to break you out. You're the only reason he's keeping quiet at this moment. He's plotting. Trying to think of ways to escape his own cage and then release you from yours. If not, I'm sure I'd have a child having a tantrum in the other room." He chuckled softly, his gaze drifting to the tray. He popped another berry into his mouth. "That boy," he mumbled. "Always such a hassle."

Plasimus brought the two clones over to him with a flick of his wrist. "A table and chairs, if you please."

They returned moments later, setting a long, narrow table a few feet in front of her. Two burgundy velvet chairs were placed at each end. Plasmius sat down in the chair to her left, flicking his cape out behind him. "If you're not going to eat, then I am," he told her. His glowing red eyes were locked on hers as he bit into the bread. He was doing that on purpose, a snake tempting her with her desires.

She licked her lips again, watching him try a little bit of everything on the tray with his eyes still fixed on hers. If she said she wanted to eat, they would have to release her. She could clear her mind, gather her strength, try to come up with some way to escape on her own. Just being able to lower her arms would be a welcome change.

"Get me down from here," she grumbled, yanking on the chains. She grimaced as the shackles rubbed against her open wounds, sending a fresh trickle of blood down her arms.

Plasmius stopped eating and smiled at her. "Hmm?"

She scowled. "That food is for me, isn't it?"

He laughed and stood up from his chair. "Yes, it is," he said, coming to stand at her side. He fiddled with the chains, releasing one arm and then the other. The cuffs were still attached to her wrists. Most likely as a warning. The electric shock could still be used even when she wasn't chained to the wall. He released her ankles and then gestured to the chair. "Please sit. Make yourself comfortable."

"Because having shackles on my wrists is so comfortable," she scoffed, but did as he said anyway. He had to keep his hand on her shoulder to steady her, something she detested, but accepted nonetheless. As soon as she was seated, she swallowed down a large gulp of the water, shivering as it traveled down her burning throat. She let out a sigh of relief. If it was poisoned, she didn't even care at this point.

Plasmius sat in the chair opposite her down the table. He propped his elbows up and rested his chin on his hands. "Phantom will be pleased to see this," he informed her, still with a smile on his face.

"I highly doubt that," she retorted. Her voice was louder and clearer now, though her arms and legs still trembled and her head continued to throb. She tore off a large chunk of bread with her teeth, swallowing it down with another gulp of water.

Plasmius looked amused by her answer. "You underestimate the depth of Phantom's fascination with you."

Sam nearly choked on the bread. "Some fascination!" she yelped in-between fits of coughing. She took a sip of water to regain her composure. "I only have one thing to ask Phantom and that would be what in the world did he do to Danny? Actually, no. Two things. I would ask him to leave me the hell alone."

"I see. Well, I'll give him your regards."

"Huh?" She heard the scrape of his chair being pushed back and glanced up at him. He bowed before her, one arm in front of him and one behind as if he was a noble gentleman. It was a familiar action. Only one other person had bowed to her like that in her entire life, the mayor.

Plasmius smirked and straightened once again. "Once you're finished, Eight and Ten will guide you to your room. You'll be able to rest there and you'll also be able to abandon all thoughts of escape." At her gaping stare, he winked. "Ghosts have no use for doors," he said smugly. He spun on his heel, cape flaring out around him, and headed for the exit. He lifted his hand and waved at her over his shoulder. "Good night, Miss Manson," he called out.

She narrowed her eyes at his retreating form and tore off another piece of bread. Odd. She didn't recall sharing her last name with him. But then, he was a ghost and he'd been speaking to Phantom. It shouldn't surprise her that he knew more than she expected him to. In fact, nothing should've surprised her anymore.

She glanced at the two clones. They'd drifted closer to her over the course of her conversation with Plasmius. It sent goosebumps rippling up her arms.

"I take it you two are clones of Plasmius then?" she said questioningly, nodding her head at them. What better way to distract herself from fear than by talking to the two creeps who were causing it?

Ten was the one who answered her, his red eyes gleaming with amusement. "Not quite," he confessed. "Though a part of us is."

"Hmm." Sam shifted her eyes to the other one, Eight. The combination of his black hair and dazzling blue eyes almost reminded her of Danny.

Odd. Very odd, indeed.

* * *

Phantom's smile was both arrogant and relieved as he watched Sam eat. After drifting aimlessly in cool, comforting darkness for a few hours, he'd returned to the land of the living, and re-living, feeling, if not revived, at least much better than he had before. Although, _much better_ was still a bit of an exaggeration. Plasmius had immediately walked in—he'd been waiting impatiently outside the door, most likely—and announced that they would be leaving shortly to go heaven knows where. He'd never mentioned a name. But Phantom, of course, being one for reckless decisions when it concerned something he cared for, turned the tables on Plasmius, demanding that he feed Sam and treat her with some respect before he blasted the cage to bits and used his face as target practice.

Needless to say, it took very little for Plasmius to grudgingly agree.

Whatever Vlad wanted, it was definitely something big. Something that required Phantom's willing participation, though he couldn't even begin to fathom what that something was.

Phantom took a deep breath and slowly heaved himself up into a sitting position. It took a fair amount of wincing and groaning, but he managed to sit with his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands resting in his lap. His more minor wounds had healed up nicely, leaving only a dull ache and a throbbing that presented itself when he shifted his limbs. His hands, however, were still rather torn up and scarred, the gash on his chest looked absolutely revolting, and he didn't even want to know what his back currently looked like if how it felt was any indication. Sitting hunched over as he was made it feel like the wound on his back was re-opening. He let out another groan and curled back on his side. It really was better for him to just lie down. He wasn't ready for anything even remotely physically strenuous. Vlad's assumption that it would be simple to just get up and go as soon as he awoke was completely ludicrous. There was no where he'd be capable of moving freely in this state.

The door flew open with a bang. As if sensing he'd been on Phantom's mind, Plasimus stormed into the room, seething. "Are you satisfied now, you insufferable brat?" he sneered and crossed the room to tower above the cage, teeth gnashing and eyes practically searing a hole into Phantom's skull. "She's unchained. She's fed. She's getting a nice, comfy bed to sleep in without Eight and Ten's prying eyes. I just bought her special _food_ as if she was my pet _dog_! Is _this_ more suitable for your delicate little toy?"

Phantom eyed him wearily from his position on the ground and scoffed. "Better."

Plasmius growled and began pacing in front of the cage. "You seem to be under this notion that I'll do anything you say simply because you said it," he ranted.

"Isn't that what you've been doing?" Phantom snickered, though Plasmius either didn't hear the remark or was making a conscious effort to pretend he didn't. It was definitely the latter, since the older ghost started stomping his feet even as he paced.

"But the only reason I'm doing _any_ of this for you—an irritable _child_ who thinks having city-wide temper tantrums will solve _all_ of his problems—stems from the honor and dignity befitting a gentleman, such as myself." He stamped his feet in place and loomed above Phantom again. Instead of a contemptuous scowl, a smirk graced his features. "These are your last requests, so I've done my duty in upholding them," he said cryptically.

"Last requests?" Phantom mumbled, looking back to the monitor where Sam was. Last requests meaning he would never see her again? His jaw snapped shut. His eyes narrowed, flashing a vivid shade of green, and he glared up at Plasmius. Last requests? The fool was begging to be killed if he was talking like that.

"What are you planning, Vlad?" he hissed.

The aforementioned ghost just continued to smirk and refused to divulge any more information. "Are you ready to leave now?"

"Do I _look_ like I'm ready?" Phantom barked.

"If you have enough energy to quarrel with me, then yes."

Green eyes drifted to the monitor again, to Sam and those shackles on her wrists and the streaks of blood on her arms. "You're going to hurt her," he accused. "Why can't you just let her go? I'm here, aren't I?"

Plasmius rolled his eyes and sighed in a patronizing manner. "And give you a reason to escape? I think not. Besides…" he trailed off, grinning again. He turned and gazed sideways at the monitor, watching as Sam carried on a conversation with the two clones. His grin widened. "You were told not to get involved with her, weren't you?" he murmured slyly. At the sound of Phantom's sharp inhale, Plasmius chuckled. "You wouldn't want anyone _else_ to try to take her away as a means of atonement, now would you?" he said with a wink, shifting his gaze back to Phantom's. Abruptly, his red eyes narrowed and his smile turned sinister. The expression on his face was one of pure malice. A look that encompassed all those moments of deliberation, self-control, nefarious plotting, and unwavering patience. "You should know better than to disobey your elders," he chided with a bitter, mocking edge to his voice. "And you should also know that I'm not one for killing women."

A growl forced its way out from the back of Phantom's throat. He'd underestimated Vlad. In that split second when he'd held Sam's fate in his hands, he'd imagined how easily it would be to steal her back and make her captors suffer. In that split second, he'd closed the door to his own coffin. He was too weak to escape the cage. Bluffing only went so far. He would have to do whatever it was Vlad wanted of him, just to keep Sam's excruciating screams at bay. And that meddlesome Clockwork wasn't helping either. He would have to pay a visit to the Master of Time's clocktower to settle whatever issues had arisen between them whenever he got the chance. _If_ he got the chance. Vlad was talking as if death lurked around the corner.

Phantom glowered at the monitor. He wouldn't let that happen. He would see Sam again. "Those two clones have been eyeing her like a piece of meat," he grumbled, doubt once again rising to the surface. Vlad really wasn't one for murder. But, like the nobleman he claimed to be, he would rather have others execute his underhanded deeds while he pulled the strings safely in the background. That meant the clones might have been given further instructions on how to deal with their latest guest.

Plasmius only laughed. "A piece of meat? You mean like the way you look at her? They do share half of their DNA with you."

"Shut up."

Plasmius laughed again and stepped closer to the cage. "Ready to leave now, boy?" he asked, peering down at him as if he was some sort of circus attraction. "If so, put this on." He dropped something between the metal bars right on to Phantom's head, blinked in surprise, and then guffawed at the comic genius of it all. "If only you could see how pitiful you look!" he exclaimed, gloating.

Phantom squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sound of Vlad's laughter before his anger got the best of him. "Why would I listen to you?" he snarled, grabbing the offending item and clenching his hand into a fist around it. He'd destroy the stupid thing!

"Ah. I wouldn't do that if I were you. Poor little Sam would be devastated to know you're the cause of her pain."

Phantom spat out a curse and opened his eyes. "Fine!" he snapped. "And I hope your plan backfires like usual!" He forced himself up on one elbow and glared at the thing in his hand. It was a collar. A freaking iron _collar_! It made him laugh. "You really are a perverted old man," he said dryly, shaking his head.

"That's what the girl said about me too," Plasmius recalled with a chuckle, absently stroking the close-shaven beard on his chin. He gestured to the iron collar Phantom was clicking into place around his neck. "That's to protect you, as well as to keep tabs on you. It gives you my ecto-signature, so that I can teleport to where you are at any time. You won't be able to escape from me with that on and no other ghosts will be able to touch you either. It also weakens your powers. But seeing as you're already weak, you won't feel much different in that aspect."

Phantom winced at the constricting feel of the collar and lay back down on the floor of the cage. "Yippee," he drawled.

"Oh, and one more thing," Plasmius chirped, spinning on his heel. He approached the computer console beneath the monitor where Sam was being led off-screen by the two clones. He pressed a few buttons, changing the image displayed from that of the now empty laboratory to a carpeted room with a king-sized canopy bed, a dresser, an ornately decorated mirror, and a door leading into what Phantom assumed to be a bathroom. Plasmius looked at Phantom over his shoulder and pointed to his own neck. "If you try to remove the collar on your own, it'll release a series of ecto-electric shocks that will inevitably kill you if you persist."

Phantom gasped, eyes widening like saucers, lips parting. He held his neck, fingers clawing at the iron. He'd done it again. He'd underestimated him _again!_ "You—"

"Don't swear, Daniel. It's not becoming."

A scream tore out of his throat as he pried at the iron collar. The electricity sparked to life almost immediately, ravaging his insides. He screamed again, a tortured, anguished scream that brought tears to his eyes. He would rather _die_ than let Vlad manipulate him like this! He brought both hands to the collar and yanked on it viciously, trying to rip it apart. His screams burned his throat, but he couldn't stop himself from crying out as the electricity charged through him. Every part of him was ablaze, smoldering, filling him with such an intense pain that he couldn't even remember where he was or what he was doing. All he knew was that he needed to get that piece of junk off his neck.

All of a sudden, he heard Sam's voice speaking above his own. He froze and lay trembling on the ground, teeth chattering, eyes twitching, breathing erratically. He wasn't coherent enough to understand anything she was saying. He only knew that it was her voice. Looking up to the monitor, he saw her alone in the carpeted room. She shouted something, glaring off to the side. Her voice was muted then.

"Excellent. They were right on time. It's nice to have minions so precise," Plasmius said with a nod. He clapped his hands together and headed for the exit. "I'll be back momentarily. Try not to hurt yourself again. You wouldn't want to leave Sam all by herself, hmm? Pity your weakness had to be something so banal. And your lack of subtlety was utterly astounding. But I digress. Be ready to leave when I return," he called out, waving nonchalantly from the door.

Phantom writhed in the cage, gritting his teeth and covering his face with his hands to keep himself from crying out in pain. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He wasn't thinking straight anymore. He should've known exactly what would happen as soon as he was sucked up in the thermos. He should've known better than to let fury control him. He should've been plotting the second he'd been released and realized Vlad was behind it all. So _stupid!_

But what was he supposed to do? Sam was here, subject to the whim of the two powerful clones and the ghost who'd been his enemy for years. He couldn't just sit there and watch her suffer when he knew he could prevent it.

He would have to start planning. He'd done all that Vlad asked. He'd go to wherever it was Vlad wanted to take him. But from then on, the game belonged to him. He'd start manipulating the board then.

Phantom lay there in the bottom of the cage, motionless, staring vacantly at the monitor where Sam moved about and examined the room. She rifled through all the drawers, peeked under the bed, ran her hands over all the walls as though searching for a secret exit. Finally, her exhaustion must have overcome her. She went to the bed and pulled the drapes surrounding it, hiding herself from his sight. He sighed and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off into sleep. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Plasmius finally walked back into the room, only that the ache in his body had worsened.

"Good morning!" Plasmius beamed, practically skipping into the room. He was so ridiculously happy. "You'll have to excuse my tardiness. Surprisingly, my other guest wasn't on time." He shrugged his shoulders as if to say it simply couldn't be helped even though Phantom was positive the waiting had severely pissed him off.

No more was said after that, at least, nothing that Phantom paid any attention to. Being dragged by the legs out of the cage was like being dragged through a field of jagged-edge knives. For someone who'd never been known to cry, he was getting awfully watery-eyed. And he planned to escape like this? Well, he'd never claimed to be rational, only stubborn.

Once Plasmius inferred that it would only waste time trying to get him to stand, he hefted Phantom onto his back—after manacling his wrists together—and carried him out into the hallway. "How like a child," he grunted. "If you hadn't tried to take off the collar, you would be fine. What a nuisance."

"You're the one who's in a hurry," Phantom scoffed from his position against Plasmius's shoulder. "Where to, Speedy?"

"The future," Plasmius said with an eager grin.

Phantom rolled his eyes. "And we'll be in the future five minutes from now too. Answer the question."

"I did."

Light drifted down the hallway, casting green shadows along the walls. Phantom slowly lifted his head, hardly believing that what he saw was really there. Plasmius slipped a medallion on over his head and gave a similar one to Phantom. Without saying anything else, he jumped into the air with Phantom still on his back and flew straight towards the sphere of light where the hazy image of ruins could be seen.

Desolate. Dreary. Sickening.

Those were the only words that came to mind when faced with gray skies, toppled skyscrapers, torn up streets, bare fields, and motionless bodies burnt to a crisp amidst ash and debris on the ground. The only scent in the air was that of death.

Bile rose up in Phantom's throat. He put his hands on Plasimus's shoulder and reared back, twisting his body to the side to throw up. Only a little ectoplasm dribbled down his chin, yet his body persisted, as if trying to rid itself of the contaminated air. He continued dry-heaving violently, eyes frantically moving side to side to take in all the destruction around him.

Plasmius let out a sigh. "Child," he whispered bitterly. "Come along. No time for sight-seeing."

They passed over the ruins. Phantom squeezed his eyes shut, but the images still haunted his thoughts. All those bodies… "Sam!" he gasped suddenly, hysterically. "Where's Sam?"

"_Your_ Sam is safe. Now hush," Plasmius ordered. He glanced around the uninhabited area, brows furrowed in concentration. "That portal should be nearby. Though he wouldn't use it, there's certainly no way he could destroy it. So where is it?" he mused. He lowered himself down amongst the rubble and hovered through the ruins, still searching. "Ah! There it is. As I said, your lack of subtlety is astounding. Hiding it underneath the biggest pile of debris. Oh, wait. Those are corpses. Hmph. How morbid." Plasmius shot a ghost ray out in front of him, clearing the way.

Phantom risked a peek and saw one of the natural ghost portals creating a rift in the air. "You do realize that might not take you where you want to go," he rasped in warning, though he didn't really care where they went at this point. He just wanted to be away from this dismal atmosphere.

"Don't worry. It will," Plasmius said assuredly. "I have time on my side." Then he took off into the portal just as before, flooding the world around them with a blinding light.

Phantom blinked. And blinked again. Was he seeing this correctly? Green misty patterns wafting around them like a fog. Scattered doors hovering in the air. Islands and strips of land floating in the distance. "The Ghost Zone."

But why?

Plasmius set him down on the island the portal had led them to and kept a steadying hand on his shoulder. Phantom heard gasps and murmurs behind him and slowly turned around. The first thing that caught his eye was the huge red castle looming above him with towers branching out from the sides capped with sharp, jagged spires. Its doors were tall and wide with the image of demon, a devilish fiend, waiting to swallow him whole.

"Pariah," he gasped. They were at Pariah's Keep.

His gaze shifted down. There was a crowd gathering in front of the castle, with their beady eyes locked on him. It was a crowd made up of some ghosts he recognized all too well, though their appearances had been altered. "Johnny 13? Kitty? Ember? _Box Ghost?_" They all glared at him, amassing such a murderous intent that Phantom felt a shiver run through his body. All of them starting shouting curses at him with vengeance in their eyes and sneers on their faces. Energy flared to life around them. Bewildered, he took a step back into Plasmius's chest. The older ghost stepped in front of him and threw out his arms in greeting.

"My, how time flies!" Plasmius exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "What a pleasure it is to be here. I do hope you'll deliver a much _warmer_ welcome than this." His voice dropped an octave by the end of the sentence. His own pink ecto-energy swirled in front of his chest, creating a shield to block the incoming attacks from the crowd. He duplicated himself. A second, then a third Vlad copy split out of his sides, making a total of three shields to protect the cowering Phantom behind him. "He's _my_ prey right now!" Plasmius hollered above the din. "But I'll give him to you soon enough."

Silence steadily rippled through the crowd.

"Well, well, well." The hulking Box Ghost elbowed his way to the front, easily parting the crowd with his massive arms. His single red eye narrowed. "All this time we thought you were dead, Vlad Plasmius. And here you are, bringing us presents."

"Never let it be said of me that I don't know how to treat a host," Plasmius smirked. "Where is he, by the way?"

The Box Ghost matched his grin. "He'll be coming. He has trouble moving around these days."

"Hmm, I see." Plasmius stroked his chin thoughtfully, then chuckled. "The eye-patch is lovely, by the way. As well as the heart tattoo on your arm."

"Never let it be said of me I don't know how to treat a lady."

"A lunch lady, I heard."

The Box Ghost's grin widened. "He's coming."

"MOVE!" a voice bellowed in the distance. Immediately, the crowd parted to make way for the newcomer. Phantom caught a glimpse of the approaching figure from between the body shield of Plasmius duplicates. Broad shoulders, a massive chest, long green hair, ivory skin, broken horns curving up from the sides of a red helmet, skeleton head clasps connected to a long black and red cape, a green mace. All telltale signs of Pariah Dark, the King of all Ghosts. But this figure was different from the Ghost King he knew, the one he'd had to lock up in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. Instead of a single green eye staring mercilessly ahead, there was a black blindfold. The green sword that was supposed to be strapped to his belt was missing, as was the arm that should have brandished the sword. His legs looked thinner, frail, easily broken. His bare feet were colored a sickly bluish-purple hue. He was being pushed up to the front of the crowd in a wheelchair by one of his skeleton soldiers garbed in Roman gladiator dress. The Ring of Rage and Crown of Fire were nowhere to be seen.

"Who _dares_ disturb my castle?!" Pariah shouted, craning his neck upwards as though glaring at them. He slammed the end of his mace on the ground.

Plasmius remained unruffled by the absurd show of power coming from such a feeble ghost. One of his duplicates leaned forward, bringing his face close to Pariah's. "I'd heard you'd been laid low, but I honestly hadn't believed it until now," he jeered.

Pariah snarled and swung his mace, striking the duplicate's shoulder and causing him to dissipate into the air. "_Plasmius_," he spat the word out bitterly. "You were killed in this lifetime. So how have you come to be?"

"I've already died once. And I'm not someone to be fooled twice, so to speak," Plasmius said with a shrug. "I'm very curious as to what happened to you though."

"_Silence!_" Pariah roared, slamming his mace down again. "You know very well what happened. Where is the child?"

"Why, can't you see him?"

"I said SILENCE!"

Plasmius chuckled and grabbed the chain shackling Phantom's wrists together. The remaining duplicate rejoined him as he took a step forward. "He's here next to me. But!" he said suddenly, yanking Phantom closer to his side as Pariah released the mace and tried to snatch Phantom away with his only hand. "Unfortunately, you can't lay a hand on him. Only I can at the moment. It was the only way I could protect him, you see."

The ex-Ghost King snorted. "How like you, Plasmius. Only thinking of yourself."

"Didn't you in the past?"

Pariah's lips curled up in a sneer. "What is it that you desire? Before I lose my patience."

"It's not what I desire, it's what I'm going to _get_," Plasmius said arrogantly. He lifted his head, scanning the air around him as though looking for something. "You'll see soon enough. I'm sure he's on his way," he murmured, a menacing smile curling the corners of his turquoise mouth and revealing those sharp fanged teeth.

Pariah's jaw dropped. His shoulders tensed up and reached blindly for his mace, which his skeleton solider retrieved for him. Anxious murmurs rose up in the crowd behind him. "You imbecile… What have you done, you _fool?!_" Pariah shouted. "You underestimate him! He has both the Ring and the Crown!"

"And I'll have them once the day is through."

"No. We must kill the child _now_!"

The crowd rose up in shouts once more, debating the situation. Phantom was thrown behind Plasmius as he tried to assuage the crowd and convince them to go along with whatever his plan was. Phantom couldn't bring himself to listen. There were too many things he didn't know, too many things he didn't understand, too many things he didn't think he _wanted_ to understand. This future, this terrible nightmare, all centered around him. Images of the demolished city appeared before his mindseye. The bodies. Those blackened, empty eye sockets all bore into him, creeping inside him, smothering him. Sam. _His_ Sam was safe. But what of the future Sam? Did she lie amongst those in the rubble?

The bile rose up in his throat. Sam. _His_ Sam. He wanted to see her. He _needed_ to see her. He didn't want to lose what he'd just found for the sake of a future that wouldn't necessarily come to pass. What was this? This was probably far beyond his time, far beyond when his human life would end. It wasn't about him. It couldn't be about him. He would never do anything of this magnitude…

Not without proper incentive.

The crowd of ghosts around him had come to a consensus, it seemed, since Plasmius began calmly walking past Pariah with Phantom in tow. He stopped in the middle of the crowd and gave Phantom a bone-chilling smile. "I'm not one for farewells," he mumbled, poorly feigning a guilt-ridden expression. "So I'll only say that you should have known better, Daniel."

"Vlad, what's going on here?" Phantom demanded in a low voice, warily eyeing the ghosts that surrounded him. "What do I have to do with anything?"

The vampiric ghost looked taken aback. "You haven't guessed?"

Phantom narrowed his eyes, not willing to believe any of the thoughts roiling through his mind. "My guesses must be wrong," he muttered.

Plasmius's smile returned. "Or perhaps they're right," he whispered. He lifted his head, gazing up at the sharp spires of the castle's towers. A light shone above the castle, a rift in the air just like the portal they'd entered. The smile on Plasmius's face widened. He looked back down at Phantom, eyes glowing red with hatred, pride, sick and twisted glee. "Say hello to your future, Daniel. And also, say goodbye." Plasmius jumped up, splitting into four duplicates as he rocketed towards the rift in the air.

Phantom didn't have time to see what it was Plasmius was aiming for. The crowd closed in around him with the same sick and twisted look in their eyes. Bloodthirsty. Homicidal. The Box Ghost stepped forward, holding a cube of crackling blue energy in his hand. "Welcome to your doom, kid," he said.

Phantom glared at him ruthlessly, throwing all his anger and hatred into making a sphere of green energy in his hands. He threw it out at the crowd, but Ember swatted it away with her guitar.

She cackled wildly, her overweight body jiggling as she did. "Say my name, dipstick," she jeered.

He was too weak. He had no power here. He planted his feet solidly on the ground, since it was all he could do to not look pathetic in front of his enemies. He saw Pariah being wheeled up to him from the corner of his eye, grinning madly with his mace held high.

The Box Ghost started chuckling. Another cube of energy appeared in his other hand. "Beware," he hissed just before he put his hands together and fired.


	13. Down This Path

Chapter Twelve

_Down This Path_

Plasmius wasn't quite sure what he'd see coming out of the portal into the Ghost Zone. Based on his conversations with Clockwork, he'd anticipated something akin to the mixed DNA clones he'd recently begun working on thanks to the time ghost's cryptic suggestion. Yet, the specimen he caught a mere glimpse of just before throwing out eight super-charged, electricity-laced ghost rays was not at all similar to his petty, juvenile experiments. This creature was even greater. With bulging arms, a piercing red-eyed stare, white hair like flames dancing atop his head, skin like polished turquoise, and a reptilian tongue flicking out from his mouth, this purebred ghost was the epitome of ultimate power. It was a shame he would have to be wiped from existence. For a scholarly man like Plasmius, it would have been rewarding to examine such a specimen further.

With the ghost distracted by the rays, Plasmius soared above him. His duplicates zipped through the sky like bullets, their entire bodies surrounded by energy shields that would do damage on contact. They pelted the ghost from all sides as Plasmius readied a final beam that would send the ghost plummeting down into the chaos going on below. The sound of Phantom's tortured screams travelled even to his ears. If it had been any other day, Plasmius would have felt somewhat sorry for the boy.

Just as he was getting ready to release the massive orb of energy, a flash of light exploded near his face. He squinted, trying to focus on the ghost below. But the ghost had vanished. "What?!" Plasmius gasped. He lifted his head and saw the ghost hovering right above him with a demented, sharp-toothed smile spread across his face. Plasmius whirled around, trying to aim the enormous amount of energy gathered in his palms, but the ghost vanished again in the blink of an eye. Plasmius felt a searing pain on his back. The sudden sting broke his concentration and forced the sphere of energy out of his hands. A violent kick to the spine sent Plasmius speeding toward his own energy blast.

"AHHH!"

He wasn't sure whose screams were louder, his or Phantom's. Being trapped inside the orb of pink energy was like being trapped inside the earth's core, or the sun. Steam rose up from his body. If he hadn't known any better, he would've thought he was melting. Pain, pain, pain, pain. He tried to push past the scorching haze, plan a next move. One of the towers branching out of Pariah's Keep was in the path of the energy beam rocketing through the sky. More pain. But it would prove useful.

He gritted his teeth, closed his searing eyes, and braced himself for impact. An explosion reached his ears. The outer edge of the sphere had made contact with the tower. Plasmius bent his knees, felt something solid beneath his feet a second, and propelled himself forward just as the tower crumbled behind him. The smoke rising up from his own body clouded his vision, forcing him to keep his eyes closed.

Not a good idea.

He whirled around, trashing blindly at the air, hoping to keep the ghost at bay. A hand grabbed his neck, halting him in mid-air. He flailed around hysterically, trying to pry the fingers apart, but to no avail. The hand that held him was ironclad.

What were those ghosts doing down there? They'd allowed him to go ahead with his plan because they knew that just by taking off the time medallions their long-lost chance at freedom would slip away. He'd given them permission to torture the boy all they wanted, so long as he ended up dead before things went awry. Their bloodlust could be satiated with any remaining humans once Phantom was gone for good. There was no need for them to drag it out!

"Plasmius, my old foe. You've come back from the dead." The voice that spoke was low and ominous and sadistically pleased with the situation Plasmius currently found himself in.

"D-Daniel," he managed to choke out in between grating breaths. He glanced up, looking at the ghost through narrowed, heavy eyes. The signs of Daniel Fenton were there, in the face and curve of the eyes and the anger rolling off of him in waves. Even the immense strength was reminiscent of the boy, though a thousand times stronger. But the flaming crown atop his head and the ring on his finger, the ring currently digging into the skin of Plasmius's neck, were something else entirely. This was the future's Ghost King.

"It's _Dan_," the ghost hissed, tongue flicking out of his mouth. A smirk lifted his lips and he tightened his grip on Plasmius's neck. "But you wouldn't know that, since I killed you years ago. Want to know how you died? Or did that meddlesome Clockwork already tell you?"

The only sounds issuing out of Plasmius's lips were gasps. Darkness was steadily overcoming his grip on the situation. Those damnable ghosts! Why were they killing the boy so slowly? It shouldn't have been that difficult! He'd already been worn down!

"You think I don't know your plan?" Dan chuckled. He reared his arm back and hurled Plasmius through the air. The vampiric ghost crashed into one of the castle towers, sending debris out around him. Before he could move, Dan was there, latching onto his arms and swinging him up like a rag doll.

Plasmius knew exactly what was coming. But his reaction time was no where near adequate for this sort of opponent. This creature, this _thing_, was a menace. No one could ever hope to oppose him.

Dan swung Plasmius's body down. The sharp trident-shaped spire on top of the tower stabbed his back, piercing clean through his torso, and he let out a sickening cry. The ghost, the _demon_, above him only laughed and set glowing green hands on the metal spikes protruding from his stomach. With no effort at all, Dan bent the three spikes over top of each other, trapping Plasmius there on the tower.

Instinctively, Plasmius reached for the medallion on his neck. But Dan grabbed his wrists, squeezing them until the bones ground together, until they nearly snapped in half. "S-stop this!" Plasmius shouted, pleading, begging, hoping beyond all else that Phantom would die in the next minute so that Dan would cease to exist and the Crown and Ring would be his. He'd made some miscalculations, but those missteps couldn't be the death of him! Wasn't Clockwork on his side? After helping him get this far, it couldn't just end like this!

From the corner of his eye, Plasmius saw another tower's spire being enveloped by a green light. It pulled away from the tower and moved, as if it had a mind of its own, right towards him.

Dan smiled cruelly and spread Plasmius's arms apart, still holding his wrists. The trident floating by his side split into three separate spikes. Two of them drifted towards Plasmius's hands.

"No," Plasmius gasped, shudders running through him. Dan only stared down at him, eyes flashing with malice and excitement, a sadist playing his favorite game. Plasmius squeezed his eyes shut, turned his head away, gritted his teeth. He felt the burning sensation on his hands, felt the throes travel up from his palms to his shoulders, inhaled sharply, and let out a howl.

Dan's venomous laughter drowned out the sounds of his pain. He released Plasmius's arms and stood towering above him. "I'd expected more from you. My mistake," he mocked. He raised his arms. Blue mist wafted from his skin, rising up into the air like a cloak, coalescing into millions of icy arrows as far as the eye could see. "Did you know that ghosts can get frostbite?" Dan asked absently, pretending to be oblivious to the legion of ice growing behind him, though his voice was dark and threatening. "Ask Pariah. It only takes a year or two stuck in ice. Then you'll be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of eternity." He chuckled forbiddingly and the blue mist coming out of his skin turned to green flames that spread down his arms and gathered in his palms.

Plasmius's eyes widened. Terror bubbling up within him. If he weren't witnessing it firsthand, he would've never believed it. The flames in his hands and even the white fiery hair on top of Dan's head were clear signs of a heat core. It was more common for ghosts to have an affinity to heat and fire, though why that was so, Plasmius had never been able to determine. But this specimen seemed to have both a heat core and a cold core, most likely attributed to the mix of DNA. It was astounding. And it filled him with dread. The Ring of Rage and Crown of Fire must have amplified the cold core already in his body and caused it to manifest itself regardless of the opposition from the heat core. That he was able to manipulate both… The kind of diligence needed to constantly have both cores in action was more than any mere ghost possessed.

Was it possible that Danny had possessed this power all along?

Plasmius grinded his teeth together. Those foolish ghosts down there! They needed to hurry up! If Dan remained in existence any longer, his life was forfeit and all his efforts would amount to nothing!

Dan's red eyes narrowed. His teeth gleamed in the green light cast over his face from the blaze gathering around his arms. "You underestimate me, Plasmius," he said accusingly with that terrible smirk on his face. "_And_ my younger self."

No…

Plasmius gaped up at the ghost in horror and disbelief.

No, no, no!

Screams filled the air. Not Phantom's, but the screams of all the other ghosts. The symphony of a massacre. Laughter rang clear as a bell. The laughter of the ghost who was in front of him right now. The laughter of a duplicate. Or was the one in front of him a duplicate?

It didn't matter.

With not so much as a warning flick of the wrist, the ice arrows came barreling towards him, merciless and deadly. Fire seeped into the newly opened wounds.

He'd lost.

* * *

Pain. Excruciating pain. Screams so shrill, so piercing and loud, he felt like his ears were bleeding profusely and that his jaw was on the verge of splitting apart.

Every second Phantom thought he'd slipped into the dark one-way tunnel to life's end, another stinging, blazing, agonizing hit would jolt him back into reality. Like being stoned to death, only a hundred times worse. Though he tried to cling to memories of Sam—the feel of her lips on his, the touch of her hand in his hair, her warm skin, her flushed and embarrassed expression, her stifled laughter—they fluttered from place to place, fleeting, never to be tied down.

All he could hope for was death. The final strike. The last gasping breath. The bleak nothingness awaiting him with open arms as the light was stolen from his eyes, leaving only an empty corpse in his place before even that too faded away.

It would be like he had never existed.

But Sam, trapped all alone in that room, what was awaiting her? Two death-warranted clones and electrocution shackles. She would suffer.

He wouldn't let that happen. She belonged to him. She was _his_ Sam. No one else could lay a hand on her, but him. He'd kill all who did.

He gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw together so tightly that it ached. He swallowed back his screams, slowly forced his eyes open and stared out into the crowd. There were anxious looks on their faces now. Pariah was wheeled closer, his mace held high in the air, as the others continued their barrage. Pariah was going for the killing blow, aiming the mace at Phantom's head.

Phantom watched his approach, closing his mind off to all else. His body was weak. He could barely move, let alone think. But he forced himself to concentrate. He forced his arm to move, little by little.

Pariah stopped just a few inches away from him, readying his mace, grinning madly. The Roman-garbed ghost solider held Pariah's arm, guiding it to where Phantom's head was. Slowly, slowly, Phantom's arm moved up. He stretched his fingers. Reaching, reaching. The mace swung once in practice, then a second time, getting closer and closer to his head. Phantom gulped, kept stretching his arm. He was almost there. He could see Pariah's sickly blue foot from the corner of his eye. He reached for it, just barely brushed his fingers against it, and Pariah let out a howl.

The mace fell from Pariah's single arm. It struck Phantom's leg and he let out a cry, but continued to keep his fingers wrapped around Pariah's toes. The collar Vlad had given him prevented any other ghosts from touching him. He would use that to his advantage.

Pariah roared angrily as pink electric shocks ran across his body. He thrashed his arm, knocking his own soldier away. The crowd of ghosts watched on, dumbfounded, stopping their onslaught of attacks. Suddenly, more ghosts started screaming from way back in the crowd. The ghosts all looked around fearfully. It was the best chance Phantom had of escaping.

Gathering every last scrap of energy he had, picturing Sam's face in his mind for motivation, Phantom released Pariah and turned himself over on his stomach. He braced his feet on the ground and jumped up, flying only a few inches from the ground. With his arms stretched out on both sides, he zipped through the crowd, sending ripples of ecto-electric energy through anyone who ventured too close and touched his skin.

As Phantom reached the end of the crowd, green flames obscured his vision. A big, hulking ghost towered above the crowd, white cape flying out behind him, white flames blazing on top of his head like hair, green energy pouring out from every inch of his blue-green skin. For a second, Phantom thought it was one of the clones. But then, as if sensing him, the ghost turned around and grinned, nodding his head in passing, as if they knew each other, before going back to wreak havoc on the crowd. His boisterous cackle filled the air.

A chill ran down Phantom's spine. He tore his eyes away from the ghost, feeling sick to his stomach, and flew off the edge of the floating island, soaring into the distance before anyone could follow.

He dropped his arms. He simply couldn't hold them up any longer. His body felt so heavy. His vision kept fading in and out. It was amazing he was even still conscious. Ectoplasm oozed from his open wounds. His skin burned. His eyes stung. His head was pounding. His throat was hoarse. His breathing was ragged. The only thing keeping him safe was that stupid collar. But that also meant Vlad could track him. In fact, he was mildly surprised Vlad hadn't already stopped him. But he didn't care. He'd escaped and there was only one place he could think of going to. Clockwork's tower.

Phantom drifted through the green misty haze that made up the Ghost Zone's sky. Whenever his vision began to falter, or his mind went blank, or his altitude dropped, he would clench his blistered hands into fists and use the throbbing pain to keep himself grounded. If he damaged his body beyond repair, so be it. He needed to get back to Sam.

The journey to Clockwork's tower was so long, despite using familiar landmarks to guide him, that Phantom almost imagined it was a test of his resilience. The Master of Time seemed to love playing games, after all. Though he was an unfair opponent with his manipulating tactics. When the giant clocktower finally came in to view, Phantom nearly collapsed with relief. He'd finally made it. He flew up, into the open window at the top of the tower, and promptly fell to his knees, gasping and trembling and coughing up ectoplasm. He toppled over onto his chest and cringed at the feel of the cold, coarse brick floor rubbing against the open slash running from his shoulder to his hip. The barrage of attacks had mostly been aimed at his chest. It had torn up the flimsy under-developed scar tissue, re-opening the wound. He should have been dead, what with the way those attacks hit the wound, going deeper and deeper into his body each time.

Was he just a moving consciousness at this point? A zombie, oblivious to the pain and working towards a single goal? If that was the case, then he gladly accepted it. It would only be a shame that Sam would have to see him in that state.

Wearily, he forced his eyes up, sensing another ghost in the room. An elderly Clockwork hovered above the ground in front of him. He had his arms crossed over his chest with his spectral tail coiled beneath him and his staff held lightly between bony fingers. The expression on his face was relatively impassive, aside from the flicker of amusement that showed itself in a slight curling of his lips. "You're ten years late," he said bluntly. "But I knew this would happen."

Phantom didn't have the energy to speak, let alone to even look at up at the time ghost. He closed his eyes, inhaling shakily, keeping the darkness at bay only by balling his hands up into tight fists. Even that wasn't working as well anymore. He was losing himself to the inky blackness of a night without end. Even Sam's face eluded him.

Clockwork's hand moved towards his neck. There was a soft click and then the collar unlocked itself and fell to the ground with a dull clank. Clockwork brought his hand over Phantom's hair, his thumb pressing gently against Phantom's forehead. "You don't have much time left here," he warned. "Watch and understand what it is you've seen, what has happened, and what you will come to do."

Images surged through Phantom like a movie picture reel at top speed. He saw himself together with Sam, saw them spending every waking moment together, watched as Sam lost her fear of him, watched himself kiss her and embrace her as she shivered in his arms. She suffered in silence while she was with him. She stared blankly at the night sky. She hid burns on her arms, burns she'd gotten from being in contact with his icy skin for too long. He had tears in his eyes as he stared at his green-eyed reflection in a mirror. He wanted to be human. He wanted to be with her in ways only another human could. He saw himself go to Vlad's mansion, saw Vlad tear him apart with huge clawed gauntlets. His ghost half and his human half were in the same room, separated. But his human half collapsed to the floor immediately, wheezing, holding his throat, being choked by the air itself. He died from suffocation, though nothing was suffocating him. He had simply been too weak to survive on his own. Angry, his ghost half fought Vlad for the gauntlets and used them to tear Vlad apart as well. He blasted the human Vlad to ashes and tried to possess Vlad's ghost half by overshadowing him, so that he would gain Vlad's strength and abilities. But something went wrong. The two combined ghosts shrieked in pain, merged together, formed an entirely new being. A new being that instantly began a rampage throughout the city, throughout the Ghost Zone, throughout the world. Such raw power. He grew bigger, faster, bolder, more powerful with each year that passed within the blink of an eye.

Phantom gasped audibly. It was the same ghost who'd been wreaking havoc on the crowd of ghosts who'd been trying to kill him. _Dan._ The name came to him through the images in his mind. This was Dan Phantom. This was…

Himself.

Phantom watched on in horror as the images continued to pour into him. He saw cities being ravaged, people and ghosts burnt to a crisp and tortured, torn limb from limb. He saw Amity Park surrounded by a massive ghost shield, protected, a lone safe haven in the chaos, watched over by a pair of red eyes in the shadows. The hunter and the hunted.

He saw Dan release Pariah from the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. Saw them battle, saw Pariah's arm being frozen during the fight, saw Dan tear the arm off and smash it to pieces against Pariah's head. Dan beat Pariah senselessly, even going so far as to rip out Pariah's single eye and crush it in his palm. Dan took the Crown of Fire and the Ring of Rage. He encased the unconscious Pariah's legs in a giant mass of ice and sent him drifting into the outer reaches of the Ghost Zone.

Phantom saw a familiar house, a house he'd never wanted to see again, a house he'd pushed out of his thoughts. A large, lone yellow house in the midst of a field and a blazing sunny sky. It exploded in a sea of green flames. The dragon Princess Dorathea raised her head up from the wreckage. In seconds, Dan snapped her wings, punched her down, and tore off the amulet that gave her a dragon's form. Phantom saw his parents, trying to fend Dan off with ghost weapons but failing. They died by Dan's hands, choked to death, decapitated. His sister was burnt alive.

"No…"

Then Phantom saw her. He watched as Dan broke through the ghost shield protecting Amity Park and ended up face to face with Sam. She was older, wearing military cargo pants and black top. Her face was gaunt, her messy hair had lost its shine and was tied back in one long tail, and somehow she looked to be even skinnier than she was at eighteen. But her eyes were pulsing with energy, vibrant and glowing, piercing through the grayness of a dismal, despondent sky. She had a bulky gun in one hand, two weapon belts across her chest and around her waist, a small wrist ray on her arm, and Tucker's signature red cap on her head with the letters RIP embroidered on the front. She tried to speak to Dan, to convince him to stop, to remember who he had been before. But Dan just laughed, told her he didn't need her anymore, said she was just another human to be toyed with, and attacked her. Other people joined in the battle, some people he recognized, some he didn't. Even together, they failed to stop Dan, the new King of all Ghosts. After killing the others, Dan grabbed Sam's neck, gave her a kiss that turned her to ice, then ran fiery hands along her body, slowly melting her into nothing more than a puddle that he stomped his feet in and laughed over.

"NO!"

Phantom yanked himself away from Clockwork's hand, sitting up on the balls of his feet with his glowing green hands braced on the floor in front of him. He glared murderously at Clockwork, panting hysterically, his entire body quivering from the rush of pure, unadulterated wrath. His voice was unsteady as he ground out, "He killed them. He killed her."

An adult Clockwork nodded his head stoically. "He did. _You_ did."

"_No!_" Phantom bellowed, the energy at his hands steadily building up around him. "She's _mine_. I would _never_ kill her."

Clockwork smiled, pleased. "It's good that you got your energy back. You're going to need it." He hovered to the other end of the room where a raised platform rested, carrying some sort of projector that showed a landscape of city ruins and barren fields. "You see, this is the future you've created by getting involved with Samantha Manson," Clockwork said, pointing his staff at the image displayed in the projector. "This is the path you've chosen. Down this path, ultimate power awaits you. But it comes with a price, a price you can only comprehend as you are right now."

Phantom locked his eyes on Clockwork's, not saying a word. Sam's death and the deaths of his family still flitted through his thoughts, not giving him a moment's peace.

Clockwork approached him again, turning into a child as he did so. He kept his gaze level with Phantom's as he spoke. "Your anger gives you strength. Over the past two years, you've relied on those negative emotions to give you more power, and it's worked. You even managed to master the Ghost Wail. But because of that, your ghost half was slowly taking over. If you had never met the girl, you would have become fully ghost with no struggle. But since you created a human attachment to her, you've become like this. You've lost even the ability to make yourself _look_ human because your ghost half is rejecting everything human within you. Even the purest human emotions."

Clockwork turned, suddenly shifting into his elderly self again. He faced the projector. The image of demolished land changed into that of a furnished, carpeted room with a canopy bed in the corner. Sam's prison. "Your worst enemy is yourself, Daniel Fenton. It always has been," Clockwork murmured, almost sadly. "If Samantha Manson were to die now, in your misery and despair, you would soon follow. And then this future would not come to pass." He looked over his shoulder, fixing a steely-eyed stare on Phantom. "My new orders from the Observants are to kill her."

An animalistic roar tore out of Phantom's throat. He bolted towards Clockwork, ignoring the sting in his legs and feet and the ectoplasm that continued to drip out of his body. He tackled the time ghost to the floor, wrapped glowing hands around Clockwork's throat, opened his mouth, and unleashed a ghostly wail powerful enough to topple an entire city.

The tower shook around them, bricks crumbling and toppling over one another. The spinning gears scattered throughout the room grinded together, screeching noisily. Both of them would be crushed beneath the debris as the tower collapsed in on itself. Still, Phantom did not let go. Even as his own wail tore apart his hands even further. Even as they plummeted down through the floor.

Through the otherworldly echoing screams issuing from Phantom's mouth, a rumbling, pulsating sound began to fill the tower. A deep sound, as if it was being dragged out of the core of the entire planet.

The shaking ceased. The ghostly wail ceased. Even their fall was stopped in midair. Two bored red eyes stared up at the ceiling as the gears throughout the tower abruptly started moving in reverse directions. The bricks reformed, flew back to their rightful places. The two ghosts were dragged back up to the highest room as if by an invisible force.

Phantom scrambled away from Clockwork and held his tattered hands to his chest. "W-what happened?" he breathed, watching with wide eyes as the adult ghost slowly picked himself up off the floor using his staff as support and coolly brushed himself off.

A smile broke out across Clockwork's face. A devious smile worthy of the devil himself. "I can't be killed, child," he chuckled. "I'm the Master of Time, remember? I exist outside of time itself because I _am_ time itself."

Phantom swallowed thickly and narrowed his eyes, steeling his resolve. "I won't let you kill Sam," he hissed.

"How can you stop me when you're not even in her time?"

Phantom snarled and leapt at him, but Clockwork extended his staff and knocked him away like nothing more than a pesky fly.

"I wouldn't move so much if I were in your position," Clockwork advised, glancing at his staff and flicking off a drop of ectoplasm. "You still need to save your little friend, don't you?" He leaned over Phantom, who lay trembling on the floor, and outstretched his hand. He turned into his child self as he did so. "I'll give you an ultimatum. If you can transform into a human right now, I won't carry out my orders for at least a week. That's enough of a head start, isn't it?"

Phantom glared at his hand, than at him. "And if I can't?"

"She'll be dead within the hour."

Phantom muttered a curse and squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. It wasn't going to work. Normally when he was on the brink of unconsciousness, weak and exhausted and ready to collapse, he would automatically turn back into a human. But it hadn't happened this time. That meant his human half was gone.

Something metallic clanged against the floor by Phantom's head. It was the collar.

"Your time is almost up," Clockwork told him. "You'll need that for later. Since you won't be getting a head start."

Phantom looked at him skeptically, holding the collar in his hand. "Whose side are you on?" he murmured.

Clockwork shrugged. "My own, I suppose. _I'm_ the main character in this story. You're all just pieces to be moved."

"Why are you letting me go?"

"It's not like I can stop you. Even time manipulation has its Achilles heel," Clockwork smiled.

Phantom lifted himself up on shaky arms, felt the weight of the medallion around his neck, and immediately knew what it was for. To think, it had been that simple all along. That Vlad… He would have to pay.

"I'll send my regards to the two of you soon," Clockwork said, his smile widening. "I hope you'll be in better shape then."

Phantom's lips curled up in a sneer. "I'll destroy anyone you send," he growled, then ripped the medallion off his neck.

Immediately, the clocktower room vanished and was replaced by the hallway in Vlad's manor where they'd first stepped into the future. Phantom didn't waste any time. He put the medallion back around his neck to protect himself from Clockwork if the need arose and proceeded down the hall, trying to retrace his steps. But it felt like so long ago that he'd last been here. He felt as if he'd lived through a lifetime. He was still so exhausted and his body ached terribly and stung all over. All he wanted to do was sleep.

But if he so much as closed his eyes for a second, the images of that wretched future haunted him. His family, his Sam, all killed by his own hand. Bile rose up in his throat, but he swallowed it down. After all the ectoplasm he'd lost, he couldn't afford to lose any more. Now that he didn't have access to his human blood, the ectoplasm was all he had left to keep himself sustained until he was able to heal.

He still had business to take care of.

He wandered down hallway after hallway, trying to create a map in his head of what turns he'd already taken. The clones would be guarding the room Sam was in. Once he found them, it means he'd found her. All he'd need to do was take out the trash.

Just as he was about to make another left turn, he heard the clones speaking to each other from the hallway to the right.

"How long has it been, Eight?"

"About an hour, I think. Why? Getting anxious, Ten?"

"The portal Plasmius used to enter the Ghost Zone would only keep them there for about forty minutes."

"Unless the clock guy was lying," Eight scoffed.

"Doubt it. But that means if Plasmius doesn't come back within the next half hour, we'll have to carry out his last orders."

Eight let out a sigh. "I was looking forward to playing with her too. Six was no fun since she malfunctioned and was destroyed just after I was made. But you never got to meet her."

Phantom hid against the wall, eavesdropping. Honestly, he didn't have a move planned at this point. They hadn't sensed him, so maybe he'd be able to just sneak past them and escape with Sam. But how long would he be able to keep up the intangibility and invisibility? Not to mention he'd have to carry Sam with him. But maybe there was something he could do. He looked down at the collar in his hands, a plan quickly formulating.

Turning himself invisible and intangible, he launched himself down the hallway and straight into one clone's body. Before the clone realized what had happened and tried to gain control, Phantom locked the collar around his neck. He grabbed the other clone's arm, causing electric shocks to run through his body, then reached up to the collar and started yanking on it, making shocks run through the possessed clone's body too. Phantom left the clone's body before the electricity could do any damage to him and quickly froze the clones' arms and legs in place, so the collar would continue to shock them.

Phantom slumped against the wall, sighing in relief. He honestly hadn't expected it to go so well. Not with the day he'd been having. And it was only, what, two in the morning?

He took a deep breath and passed through the wall into the room where Sam was. She wasn't wandering around anywhere, so that meant she was still sleeping. Gingerly, he made his way to the canopy bed and pulled the drapes aside. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw her facing him with the most peaceful expression on her face. At least she wasn't haunted by reality's nightmares in her dreams. He would have loved to lay there beside her and slide into that peaceful oblivion, but he wasn't done yet. They couldn't stay in this place.

He lifted her into his arms and winced as pain shot through every part of his body, nearly dropping her. He was reaching his limit. Adrenaline only took a person so far. He tightened his jaw and heaved her up again, fighting back the throbbing, stinging ache. She moaned in her sleep, turning her head away from the wound on his chest.

"Sorry, Sam," he mumbled. "I'm trying my best."

Phantom struggled to get airborne with Sam in his arms. Slowly, he phased out of Vlad's manor through the ceiling and wobbled along in the sky like a helicopter with faulty, broken rotors. He needed to bring her to safety. What place was safe from a ghost who knew past, present, and future?

The question only made him more exhausted than he already was. He would simply have to take her to Fenton Works, make sure the shield was up and running, and then figure out his next move. Preferably before Sam woke up and tried to kill him. With the way he was now, she would probably succeed.

* * *

Clockwork leaned his cheek against his staff, absently running his fingers through his beard as he watched the projector in his tower. Vlad Plasmius Masters was going through quite the hell with Dan Phantom. Even worse than the boy went through, which wasn't a surprise. The boy had been able to subconsciously block the more dangerous hits. Then there were the Dan duplicates running around as well. Plasmius wouldn't die though, since the portal he'd entered in the city ruins would be returning him there in precisely four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. It was such a difficult thing, killing a ghost. Yet, Dan Phantom made it look easy. An astounding feat, even for a future tyrant king like him. A feat the young Daniel Fenton had already experienced once for the clone named Seven. Such raw talent as a soldier. It was a shame the boy's only dream was to become an astronaut.

Clockwork knew he would have company momentarily, so he waved his arm across the projector to clear the image and spun around to face his visitor.

"You lied to the boy, Clockwork. Why?"

The Observants were never one for pleasantries. Still, Clockwork smiled at his one-eyed, cloaked visitor. "You mean, telling him that I've been ordered to kill Sam when I've actually been ordered to kill him?" he asked, just for the sake of irritating the Observant and because that was how the conversation needed to begin in order to end as it should.

"Yes."

"Isn't it obvious?" Clockwork chuckled. "It gives him a reason to be with her."

The Observant wasn't amused. They were never amused. "Is this treason? Are you in league with Dan Phantom?" he asked, throwing out assumptions as Observants were wont to do.

Clockwork shook his head passively, already knowing that the Observants weren't seeing the full picture as he was. They weren't able to see or understand the plan he'd had set in motion for years now. That was all right. They would come to see things differently in time, once the winding and twisted paths had been arranged in a single line parade for them to view.

"No, no," Clockwork assured his visitor. "I'm just setting the right future in motion. After all, he's starting to go down a different path." He leaned against his staff, glancing to the projector again. The barest hint of a smile curved his lips. "You'll see. It will be interesting. The future lying down this path…"


	14. Foolish

Chapter Thirteen

_Foolish_

Phantom tumbled headfirst through the front door and landed on his injured back with Sam sprawled on top of him. Cringing, he let out a grunt and dug his fingers into Sam's arms. It _hurt_. Agonizing, excruciating pain far worse than hell, far worse than anything he'd ever experienced. Would it be so wrong to lay there for the rest of eternity? He was just so tired. His eyelids were heavy and drooping. Would it be so wrong to give in to sleep?

Sam's brows furrowed and she squirmed uneasily, moving her face away from the slash across his chest. His eyes widened, afraid she would wake up. He did _not_ want to deal with her just yet. She'd be the death of him.

Just as he was the death of her.

He shook the thought from his mind, those horrible images of the future, and focused on the task at hand. Making himself intangible, he fazed down through the floor and into the basement. Piles of broken machines, smashed computers and monitors—he'd forgotten how messy it was down there. It had been over a year, after all. He'd found the familiarity of the lab to be sickening and had decided to let off some steam by redecorating. If one could call absolute mayhem and destruction redecorating. Though he'd had the decency to keep the more important pieces of equipment intact, like the ghost shield and the portal to the Ghost Zone. He hadn't been down there since.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking as he recalibrated the ghost shield. It would be better to bandage them up, but he didn't want to take time for that. They would heal eventually. He was about to head back upstairs when he heard someone's footsteps in the shadows. It wasn't a ghost, so that left only a handful of people. He heaved a sigh. It just wasn't his day. Weren't Sundays supposed to be relaxing?

The buzz and whir of a charging weapon echoed in the lab. Phantom ducked, holding his arms above his head, and just barely dodged the ecto-beam zipping through the air. He glanced up, green eyes clashing against a familiar turquoise. "Tucker," he sighed dejectedly. The one who'd put him through all this mess by capturing him in the thermos. He didn't have the strength to deal with this new hindrance. And it's not like Tucker knew he'd betrayed his best friend, so playing the pity card was an impossibility. What was he supposed to do now?

Despite Tucker's bold attack, his shoulders were shaking. He looked completely terrified, with a quivering frown and twitching eyes. He held out his arm unsteadily with the Fenton Wrist Ray attached and attempted to stare Phantom down. "D-don't move," he stammered, forcing an adamant tone.

Phantom's exhaustion was quickly spreading throughout his body. His arms fell limply to his sides and his legs began to wobble beneath him, threatening to give way. Not good. Tucker would turn him in.

"I won't move," Phantom murmured, leaning heavily against the console that operated the ghost shield. It wasn't like he was really capable of moving at that point anyway.

Tucker's eyes widened minutely at that, taken aback. Then he growled in the back of his throat and aimed the wrist ray again at Phantom's head. "Where are Danny and Sam?"

Phantom blinked his eyes a few times, trying to fight back the drowsiness. "Upstairs," he said, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. "Sammy is sleeping upstairs."

Tucker's face took on a look of disgust at the pet-name. "And Danny?" he snapped.

Phantom smiled weakly. "If you don't turn me in, I'll tell you," he cooed.

"W-what? Like hell you will! Tell me now!" Tucker shouted, taking a step closer. The wrist ray started charging up another shot.

Darn. This wasn't working out well. Since he was injured like this, Tucker wasn't as afraid of him as he should've been, even with the bruises he hid beneath a turtleneck shirt from their last encounter. He had two options. Tell Tucker the whole truth, that he _is_ Danny, or go for intimidation. He narrowed his eyes, examining Tucker closely and imagining the outcomes of both scenarios. In his mind, both resulted in him getting shot at. So, might as well go with the latter.

Bracing his hand on the console, Phantom slowly walked closer to Tucker, keeping his head lowered. "Is that so, _human?_" he hissed, pouring every ounce of venom he could muster into his voice. "You'd turn me in knowing all that I can do to you? Do you really think _anyone_ can hold me? I escaped from those dogs you set loose, didn't I? All of a sudden, you don't fear me anymore? Is that so? _Huh?_" He lifted his chin, putting on his most sinister, disturbing, spine-chilling smile, and widened his eyes. He stared down at Tucker like this, his face frozen in that terrifying mask.

Tucker's eyes watered and he starting shaking all over. "U-uh…" His shaking increased. He looked like he'd wet himself. Phantom brought his face closer and closer, turning his head at an angle. Tucker closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and shrieked at the top of his lungs. He fired the wrist ray blindly, striking the wall. Phantom muttered a curse and grabbed his arm, ripping the weapon off his wrist before he ended up destroying the mechanism for the ghost shield. Tucker squealed and jerked his arm out of Phantom's hold, dashing to the other side of the lab with his eyes closed and tears streaming down his face.

"Nooooo-_ugh_!"

Phantom winced as Tucker ran headfirst into the wall with a loud _bang_. He made a weird sort of groaning sound and dropped unconscious on the floor with a huge red welt on his forehead to match the red cap.

Well, that took care of that.

Phantom tossed the wrist ray aside in a pile of scrap metal and dragged himself up the stairs, literally dragged, because he was getting too weak to even hover in the air for a few seconds. Locking Tucker in the basement for good measure, he stumbled over to where Sam was still lying on the floor and knelt beside her. She really did need to learn how to be a light sleeper. He was glad he'd rescued her when he did because she'd probably just sleep through anything the clones did to her. The thought wasn't as amusing as it sounded. It made him angry, at the clones and at her. He hoped those two were still being shocked into oblivion, though he wouldn't put it past them to escape. They did share certain similarities with Dan.

A shudder ran through him as he thought of the ghost attached to that name. He clenched his jaw together and squeezed his eyes shut, pushing the memories out. Stupid Clockwork. He could've survived just hearing the tale instead of witnessing it like that. Hearing it would've been bad enough.

Phantom scooped Sam up into his arms, intending to bring her over to the couch and take the shackles off her wrists and ankles. As soon as he managed to get up on his feet, his vision clouded and his legs gave out beneath him. He was just too weak. The growing soreness in every inch of his muscles was too much to bear anymore. With a strained gasp, he toppled over onto the floor, dropping Sam a little ways in front of him. "Sammy," he groaned, reaching for her, seeing the shackles stained with her blood, imagining her tortured screams. He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Finally, he succumbed to fatigue and let the darkness wash over him, hoping that it would bring an end to the pain.

* * *

Sam rolled over onto her side restlessly. It was chilly, and the mattress suddenly felt uncomfortable for some reason. Her wrists and ankles stung and were sore. That was to be expected. She still felt a little sick to her stomach after the electric shock. Her head pounded dully too, as if she'd been hit. Then again, it could've been because of hunger and thirst. She wasn't sure how long she'd been asleep. She shifted up into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes and yawning. The metal cuff on her wrist felt cool against her cheek. Unnaturally cool.

_Plasmius!_

She gasped, snapping her head up, fearing the vampiric ghost or even the clones were hovering over her in bed, laughing at her for being such easy prey. But she didn't see anyone. In fact, she wasn't even in that luxurious canopy bed or the small carpeted room. There was a high ceiling above her, a worn couch off to her side, a coffee table piled with random pieces of technology and a recliner in front of her. She spun around and saw a familiar staircase and railing behind her and familiar walls with missing pictures.

She was back in Fenton Works.

But how was that possible?

She scrambled up to her feet, wanting to see if the ghost shield was running smoothly again, but she was stopped frozen in her tracks by the mess of pure white hair on the floor that caught her eye. _Phantom._ Eyes wide, she backed up to the coffee table and rummaged around for the Fenton Wrist Ray, keeping her eyes trained on the ghost on the floor. The wrist ray wasn't there. She muttered a curse and grabbed the next best thing she saw, a metal boomerang. These were ghost weapons, right? If they were weapons, they all had to have some sort of special way of harming ghosts. Maybe the boomerang would electrocute him? She could only hope.

She stood there, watching Phantom for any sudden movement, gripping the boomerang so tightly in her hand her knuckles turned white. Her panting breaths were loud and harsh in the silence of the room. He didn't move an inch. Almost as if he was dead. But he was a ghost. Of course he was dead. So was he sleeping? Did ghosts even sleep? She hadn't heard of that.

Sam took one hesitant step forward and paused with the boomerang poised and ready to be thrown. When there was still no reaction from the ghost on the floor, she took another step and then another. She studied him. The thick black brows and small pointed nose. His tall, lean physique. She saw green goo oozing out of his back in patches and a nasty red star-shaped scar. It was the wound he'd gotten saving her from that clone's blast. Before he shoved her into the bathroom and left her to be kidnapped by another clone while she was locked inside. His black suit, almost like a second skin, was in tatters, torn to reveal slashes and bruises and scorch marks all over his body. Puncture wounds dotted the side of his leg. His hands were covered with blisters and burned. He looked like he'd been in a war all by himself. Like a wounded animal.

She hated herself in that moment for having such a soft spot for strays. Looking at him then, with his pale face contorted in pain even as he slept, she couldn't help the pang of sympathy that struck her.

But he was evil. He was malicious. He was a murderer.

She would never feel anything more for him than pity at his fate. A fate he'd willingly, stupidly, proudly chosen for himself.

This was Public Enemy Number One.

The sound of a doorknob jiggling came from behind her. Sam spun around with the boomerang still poised in midair. Someone was in the basement. She glanced back just to make sure Phantom was still there on the floor, and then headed for the door. There was no need to. She heard some kind of ray gun being fired, saw smoke rise up from the knob, and then caught a glimpse of a bright red hat as the door was kicked open and Tucker jumped out with the wrist ray on his arm and ready to shoot.

"Don't move—Sam!" he exclaimed, eyes practically bugging out of his skull. He dropped his arm and gaped at her in amazement. "You're really here! I was so worried about you after I—well, after that…" he trailed off, lowering his eyes and absently scratching the back of his head, acting as if he had something to hide. Sam distinctly remembered his odd behavior right before Phantom had appeared and she'd been kidnapped. She also remembered that the ghost shield had been deactivated as soon as he'd gone into the basement. But this wasn't the time to question his actions. She would do that later. Eventually.

"Anyway!" Tucker smiled, relieved. "I didn't think he was telling the truth but, here you are! But he's... Where is he?!" he suddenly shouted. His whole demeanor changed in that instant into one of absolute fear. His eyes darted around the room and he lifted the wrist ray again, breathing heavily and trembling.

"You mean him?" Sam asked, pointing the boomerang in the direction of the white-haired ghost lying motionless by the front door.

Tucker aimed the weapon at Phantom. His trembling steadily subsided as he realized the ghost wasn't reacting to the threat. "Is he dead or something?" Tucker whispered, completely baffled and a little surprised.

"Yes," Sam drawled, crossing her arms. "He's dead. That's why he's a ghost. And he's also sleeping. Because apparently ghosts do that, even though I've never heard it before," she snorted, rolling her eyes.

"I see," Tucker said, nodding. He stared at Phantom's lifeless body. But looking at it just made him nervous and a little queasy, so he turned to Sam instead. She looked to be absolutely at ease with the whole crazy situation. "So what are we going do now?" he asked her.

Sam glanced over at the pile of Fenton equipment on the coffee table. "Is there something we can tie him up with? Or weaken him with? We just need something that'll keep him from going psycho on us when he wakes up."

Tucker shivered at that. "Uhh, well, I remember the Fentons made some serum that would weaken a ghost's powers. I don't remember if it was temporary or permanent though. It had some weird name…"

"Is there some left?"

"Maybe. I can check in the basement."

He turned to leave, but Sam put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. She didn't look at him when she said, "You shouldn't go down there alone. Let's tie him up for now. Isn't that some sort of rope on the table?"

Tucker frowned and scuffed his foot on the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. She didn't trust him anymore. "Yeah. Okay," he mumbled.

Sam tried not to let Tucker's obvious guilt and depression weigh down on her. But it was kind of impossible when he kept sighing and pouting after they'd tied Phantom's arms and legs down with a lariat called the Wraith Wrangler and she sat on the couch reeling out some sort of ectoplasm-coated fishing line from what Tucker called the Fenton Ghost Fisher. It seemed like the Fenton family had a fetish for redundant titles and pointlessly attaching their name to their inventions. It gave the impression that they were a cheerful, rather silly family. That they had to be tragically separated was beyond cruel. It was inhumane. And the ghost who'd done it was right in front of her.

Sam and Tucker both knew the thick rope of the Wraith Wrangler wouldn't hold back Phantom at his full strength. Ghosts were notorious for quick healing capabilities, after all. Tucker had found the remains of a nine-tailed whip called the Jack o' Nine Tails. It had been pretty badly damaged—with most of the whips separated and completely smashed to pieces—but Tucker had fiddled with it a bit and caused sparks to fly out of two connected tails that were still mostly intact. Immediately, Sam had gotten the idea for the fishing line, to use it as a conductor for the ecto-electricity from the Jack o' Two Tails. She wrapped the fishing line around Phantom's limp body, with Tucker's grudgingly reluctant help since it involved shifting the ghost into different positions. Tucker still had the wrist ray and kept it ready to shoot just in case Phantom awoke. But it wasn't necessary. Phantom barely even breathed. It was kind of creepy, like handling a corpse with icy cold skin.

Since there was still a lot of line left when they finished their grueling task, Sam went around wrapping the line around the coffee table legs and beneath the recliner. Tucker, with a lot of strained huffing and puffing, lifted one end of the couch for Sam to put the end of the fishing line under. That way there was plenty of space for them to use the Jack o' Two Tails if they needed to. And it would also make it more difficult for Phantom to escape.

Sometimes, Sam even amazed herself. She sighed contentedly and tucked her flyaway strands of hair behind her ears. Despite the quarter-sleeved black shirt and sweatpants she wore, she was freezing from being in close contact with Phantom for so long.

"Oh, Sam!" Tucker blurted out, nearly giving her a heart attack. She gave him a nasty glare, wordlessly commanding him to keep his voice down. He winced and murmured an apology. "Sorry. But did he tell you where Danny is?"

Her eyes widened. "Phantom knows where he is?" She'd suspected as much considering the blood she'd seen on the cracked mirror in the bathroom, and how Phantom had appeared just when Danny had disappeared. When she'd demanded to know where Danny was though, Phantom had just given a cryptic reply, saying that he was gone.

"I guess so. He said he would tell me if I didn't turn him in," Tucker informed her.

Sam nodded, briskly rubbing her arms to keep warm. "Then it's a good thing I didn't plan on turning him in," she muttered.

"What?!" he shrieked.

She had to glare at him again. Just because Phantom hadn't woken up yet, didn't mean he wouldn't ever wake up. Hell, he might've even been messing with them and pretending to be asleep the whole time. She still didn't believe that ghosts actually slept. She just thought he was in some sort of involuntary healing phase, like a sort of meditation where he was oblivious to the world around him. It was said to happen with vampires. Though for vampires, that state lasted many years. Would it be the same for Phantom? If that was so, they'd eventually have to wake him up on their own. They needed to find Danny.

"S-sorry," Tucker mumbled again. "But why aren't you going to turn him in? He's a wanted criminal!"

"He has a lot of questions to answer," Sam replied vaguely and shrugged her shoulders. In truth, she just knew that Phantom would escape from whoever tried to hold him captive. Reasonably the only people they could call to turn Phantom in were the Guys in White. But those buffoons were known for being showy and entirely ineffective. The Fentons had been their primary weapon benefactors and now that they were missing, the Guys in White were even more useless than before. They were also apparently focusing their efforts along the west coast now, after Phantom had pretty much sent them running with their tails between their legs little over a year ago. According to the news, California had had a rise in ghost activity. Amity Park was only troubled by a single ghost. Since it was a ghost no one wanted to be involved with, there weren't really many people who would offer to take responsibility for him.

Still, she would speak to the mayor about it as soon as she could. That was the best she felt she could do at the moment. Besides, she didn't think Phantom would hurt her. Not with the way he'd protected her earlier. But she was only grasping at straws. She couldn't be sure.

Maybe she was just being a fool, thinking she could somehow put a leash on a monster.

Sam heaved a sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. The streaks of red along her arm caught her eye. She'd almost forgotten. "Tucker, would you be able to take these off?" she asked, gesturing to the shackles on her wrists and ankles.

"Umm, I don't know. My specialty is hacking into _soft_ware, not _hard_ware."

She stared at him blankly. "Was that supposed to be a joke?"

"Uh… Apparently not," Tucker grumbled, pulling his cap down over his eyes. "Are they, umm, hurting you?" There was a note of worry in his tone. His gaze followed the trails of blood down her arms to the bruises and scrapes from where the shackles had chaffed at her skin.

She smiled, just to make him feel at ease. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "Not right now. But I'm worried they might later on. I should wash the dried blood off. Keep the Jack o' Two Tails handy."

Sam kept her eyes on Tucker as she went into the kitchen to clean off her arms. If he noticed, he didn't mention it. But she assumed he knew he was under scrutiny because of the way he sighed and started fidgeting. Then again, it could've also been the result of anxiety. There was a maniac ghost in the room after all.

Honestly. Just what was she thinking? She didn't understand it herself.

"So that serum you were talking about," Sam said, walking back into the living room and wiping her arms on her sweatpants. "There might be some downstairs?"

"Yeah. Probably locked up somewhere," Tucker nodded, keeping his gaze on Phantom. He had the ends of the Jack o' Two Tails in his hands and was sitting on the floor against the back of the recliner near the fishing line. He was taking this job seriously. "If there is some left, I hope it'll work," he added as an afterthought, his forehead creasing with worry.

"Me too," Sam agreed, glancing at Phantom. With his eyes closed and his tousled hair falling across the troubled expression on his face, it was ironic how harmless he looked lying there on the floor. Physically, he didn't appear to be any older than they were. It was actually kind of…strange.

Sam searched the basement, rummaging through the piles of junk and the random compartments throughout the decimated lab. While she didn't trust Tucker by himself in the basement, she did trust him to be scared enough not to do anything stupid upstairs with Phantom. She wasn't sure when exactly was the best time to confront him. She just knew she didn't want to deal with it now. There was enough going on.

She'd just opened the rusty doors of a locker filled with hazmat suits when she saw a note taped to the other side of the door. _Ecto-Dejecto in briefcase with sticker of face. Remember to replace Emergency Ham._

"Emergency Ham?" she said aloud. Just who were these Fenton people? She glanced down and found the briefcase at the bottom of the locker. The man on the sticker had a huge toothy grin and dark blue eyes, nothing like the sharp icy blue Danny had. Opening the case, she found a syringe filled with green liquid secured inside a padded covering. That had to be it.

"Was the serum called Ecto-Dejecto?" she asked when she was back upstairs.

Tucker's eyes lit up in recognition. "Yeah! So you found some?"

She showed him the syringe and grinned. "Thanks to the Fentons. Should we use it now?"

"It might take some time to have any effect. I think we should try, and hope it actually makes him weaker."

Sam glanced at Phantom and the gruesome wounds all over his body. "It just weakens his powers, right? It won't make his injuries any worse?"

Tucker looked at her incredulously. "Would it matter? Ghosts can't die. They're already dead, right?" When she only gave a noncommittal shrug in response, he narrowed his eyes and scowled. "Sam, you do remember who this is, right? Just because he looks helpless, doesn't mean he is."

"I know," she snapped, glaring at him, appalled that he could even think she had a soft spot for someone like Phantom. "Trust me. I _know_. I just want to make sure he's coherent enough to answer all my questions before I decide what to do with him."

Tucker still didn't look convinced. To prove her own credibility, she went over to Phantom with the syringe in hand and knelt beside him. Being so close to him, her heart started pounding wildly. "Maybe I should have a weapon on me," she mumbled, scooting further away from the ghost.

Tucker handed her the Fenton Wrist Ray. "I'm right here, Sam. No worries," he said.

"You're more scared than I am," she retorted.

That made him laugh nervously. "Uh, well, yeah. B-but I'm still here," he stammered.

Sam tested the syringe, making sure the serum would go through, and then leaned over Phantom. She stuck the needle through the upper part of his arm and slowly pushed the liquid out of the syringe and into his body. Once the serum was all gone, she heard Phantom groan and immediately scrambled away from him. His shoulders started trembling. He winced and tossed his head from side to side. Then he let out a sharp gasp and his eyes flew open.

Sam grabbed Tucker's leg instinctively and pointed the wrist ray at the ghost. Her heartbeat and Phantom's violent, heavy breaths filled the silence of the room. Slowly, so slowly she thought she would die from terror, his vibrant, glowing green eyes shifted towards them. When he met Sam's gaze, her breath caught in her throat and she tightened her grip on Tucker.

Phantom's face drew down in a frown. His hand twitched uselessly at his side. Confused, he looked down at his tied-up body and his eyes widened, following the trail of fishing line to the Jack o' Two Tails in Tucker's hands. He sighed, disgruntled by the whole thing. "Congratulations. You caught a ghost," he said dryly, narrowing his eyes into thin slits. "You couldn't have at least put me on the couch?"

Sam's words all dried up in the throat. All she could do was stare at him and try to control her erratic breaths.

Phantom looked at her—his bright eyes burning into her, making her skin warm—and grinned. "Sammy." Her name rolled off his tongue sensually. It sickened her. It made it even harder to breathe.

"Don't call me that," she hissed.

Phantom's grin only widened. "_Sammy_," he lilted.

"Just shut up!" she barked, turning her head away from him and the intensity of his stare. "Your life is in our hands right now. It'd be a good idea for you to listen to us."

"I don't make a habit of respecting authority," he scoffed, rolling over onto his side to face her. "And I'm a little upset right now. My entrance was ruined by those clones who kidnapped you. It's depressing," he pouted childishly. The pout soon turned into a smirk. "Oh, and the one who let them in is right behind you, you know. I'm offended. You can trust him and not me?"

Tucker froze behind her. "W-wait. Sam! That's not what it sounds like!" he protested, panicking. "I can explain! I—"

"I already knew he had something to do with it," Sam admitted, speaking to Phantom. "But he's still more trustworthy than you, a deranged murderer."

Phantom's eyes glinted angrily, dangerously. He glared at her, sneering. "I'm _not_ a murderer," he said, his voice low and even.

"Is that why you destroy apartment buildings?" she snarled, leaning forward with her hands braced on the floor. "And torture innocent people? You just do it for fun? Is that it?"

"I did that to get you out of there!"

"Well, I'm out!" she shouted, leaning even closer. "But how many people didn't come out? Huh? Do you know?"

Phantom just glowered at her, keeping his jaw clenched tightly together and his mouth closed in a thin line.

Sam laughed once, short and humorless, and sat back on her heels. "I didn't think so," she said bitterly, a weary expression on her face. She sighed and covered her face with her hand. "You disgust me." Her voice came out in a scornful, miserable whisper. She fought to stifle the tears that threatened to fall. All the pain and suffering. All the terrified and lonely cries ringing out in the middle of the night. The fear in people's eyes. The heartache. The loss. The agony. The darkness. All of it was the result of this ghost's twisted pleasure. And he didn't even keep track of the people who might have lost their lives? Wasn't that what he found joy in, since death meant nothing to one already dead? Or was it just the sound of torment that he loved? How long would he continue that mindless vendetta?

Sam wiped her eyes impatiently, determined not to let anyone see her cry. Phantom's gaze was fixed on her, filled with what she thought was sadness and guilt. But the look faded right away and she knew she must've been imagining it.

"I don't intend to kill anyone," Phantom confessed in a soft voice, shifting his gaze to Sam's legs. He winced at the sound of her biting laughter.

"You mean you don't _think_ about the consequences of your actions! Despite what you might believe, some _humans_ will sacrifice themselves for the good of others. We're not all bad."

"I know," he said simply. His eyes met hers again.

And yet _again_, she found it hard to breathe. What was wrong with this situation? She felt like she was talking to a child, not a psychopath. Was this supposed to be some trick of his? A mind game?

Tucker nudged her back with his elbow. "Don't forget about Danny," he reminded her, whispering into her ear.

"I can hear you," Phantom drawled, raising an eyebrow as if to mock them for not knowing that fact. "What if Danny doesn't want to come back?"

"What?" Sam and Tucker gasped simultaneously.

"_What if he doesn't want to come back?_" Phantom repeated, enunciating each syllable as if he was speaking a foreign language.

"B-but…" Tucker sounded like he was ready to burst into tears.

Sam stared Phantom down, gauging his expression for any sign of lying. Emotionally tormenting people was a hobby of his, after all. "Why wouldn't he want to come back? Where is he?" she demanded.

"I wish I knew," Phantom sighed wistfully. He winked at her. "You'll just have to make do with me instead," he smirked.

She was about snap on him again, but Tucker's rumbling stomach interrupted her. "Uhh…"

Phantom stifled a laugh while Sam whirled on Tucker and smacked him in the head. "What are you doing?! There's a freaking crazy ghost in here and you're thinking about food?!" she snarled.

"I-I'm sorry! I can't help it! I'm just so hungry!" he wailed.

She smacked him again. "Deal with it and focus!"

Phantom snickered. "You two are the worst captors ever," he said.

Sam spun her head and fixed him with an icy glare that immediately made his grin disappear. "You shut up! Or I'll shock you into oblivion!" she threatened.

The prospect didn't seem to affect him. His expression remained impassive. "Like I did to the clones who were your captors?" he deadpanned. When she didn't make any move to respond, he smiled at her sweetly and arrogantly. "You keep talking down to me, but you've forgotten that I saved you. All these injuries are proof."

Sam fumbled for words. Something, anything she could say to make little of what he'd just pointed out to be true. She couldn't think straight. Not with those bright, bright crystalline green eyes watching her every move.

She stood up with her hands clenched into fists at her sides and her head lowered. His eyes followed her still. "I'm leaving," she announced brusquely, turning away from him. She stomped across the room, heading for the front door.

"Hey, wait! Don't leave me alone with him!" Tucker pleaded desperately.

"You can't leave!" Phantom shouted.

The sound of his voice and its eerie, otherworldly echo halted her mid-step. Did he really just dare to command her like that? As if he had some say in what she could or couldn't do? "You don't own me," she hissed, glaring down at him over her shoulder.

He matched her glare with his own. "Not yet," he told her in a dark, menacing tone. It sent shivers down her spine.

She growled and headed for the door again. She wasn't about to listen to him. "I'll be back soon, Tucker," she said reassuringly. "I'll pick up some food for you."

"If you want to die, then go ahead and leave," Phantom called out, turning his head away from her. "But if you value the life I just risked mine to save, you'll stay right here."

He was going to keep bringing that up, wasn't he? She honestly didn't care what he did for her. It would never make up for the hell he'd put the people of Amity Park through. Sam looked back at him for only a second before she opened the door and walked out. It served him right.

Phantom turned just in time to see the door slamming behind her back. The sound of it reverberated in his skull, a sound of doom. Panic rose within him. "SAM!" he screamed. He lifted into the air and flew towards the door but the fishing line held him back. "SAM!" he yelled again at the top of his lungs, struggling to break free. "Sam, come back! Sam!" An ecto-electric shock coursed through his body, weaker than the shock he'd gotten from the cage and even the collar, but it was still enough to send him plummeting to the floor and writhing in pain. "S-stop it, Tucker! You don't understand! She's, _ugh_, in danger!"

"The only one in danger is you," Tucker said, abruptly pulling away from the line on the floor, severing the flow of electricity. "And your powers have been weakened by Ecto-Dejecto."

Ecto-Dejecto? The failure of a serum that actually made a ghost's powers stronger? No wonder he'd woken up feeling infinitely better than before. He'd thought he was just a fast healer. But thanks to that mishap, he'd be able to go off again, only half-healed, to save that headstrong, irritating, fool of a damsel.

"Tucker, there are other ghosts after her. They want her dead. You have to let me go!"

"W-why would I listen to you?" Tucker grumbled, averting his gaze. He was hesitating. Contrary to his words, he looked worried and glanced at the door as if hoping Sam would return.

"Let me go, Tucker. I have to protect her."

"No!"

"Tucker!"

"I said no!"

"You…MORON!" Phantom bellowed. Green energy exploded out around him, causing Tucker to scream and scramble backwards with his hand over his streaming eyes. This wasn't right. This wasn't how he wanted to go about this. This wasn't how it should've been. But Phantom was hysterical, worried that Sam was already being pursued by Clockwork and his cronies, worried that she might already be dying or _dead_. The last of his control, his sanity, just seemed to break apart in that instant. "You want to know where Danny is? Do you? Well, he's right here! Right in front of your _face_! So for trying to get me _killed_, you owe me! _Let. Me. GO!_"

Tucker huddled against the recliner, quivering and whimpering and staring at him in horror. "Y-you're lying. You can't be a ghost and a human! And Danny would never do what you have! He'd never force his parents out like that!"

"_YOU KNOW NOTHING!_" Phantom roared. The energy around him crackled and flew out into the air, setting the curtains ablaze, shattering the windows to pieces. The fishing line wrapped around him snapped and burned up into little strands that fell uselessly to the floor. The flames in the room cast ominous shadows over his face. "Let me go _now _before I do something I regret," he snarled.

Tucker—frightened out of his mind, with tears coming down his face—hurried over to Phantom and undid the knots in the lariat as swiftly as his shaking fingers could manage. As soon as the rope was loose enough for Phantom to move his arms, he tore the rope off his body and took off flying. The thrum of the ghost shield, quiet enough that it was hardly noticeable, ended abruptly and Tucker saw a flash of green through the glass-less window frame, signaling Phantom's departure.

Phantom.

_Danny_ Phantom?

Tucker held his head in his hands and sobbed.

He couldn't believe it.

It just couldn't be true.


	15. Discrepancies

Chapter Fourteen

_Discrepancies_

Phantom found her almost immediately, walking briskly down the sidewalk in the dim light cast off by streetlamps. The relief he felt upon seeing her completely unscathed was marred by the thought of her being dragged away in front of his eyes. Clockwork seemed to share his penchant for sadism. If only she knew there were more dangerous things awaiting her than creepers lurking around the streets before dawn, then she wouldn't have blatantly ignored his warning. He had to bring her to safety as soon as possible. Desperation had enabled him to think of a solution to his problem in a flash. Now he just had to go about it.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his face into the back of her neck, before she was able to turn around and notice him. Unfortunately for him at that moment, she had some knowledge of self defense, which came as a surprise. She ended up breaking out of his hold, before he could take off with her into the sky, and kicking him to the ground. He winced, clutching his stomach and the wound she'd probably just re-opened again.

Sam towered above him. The look on her face was murderous. "What are you doing here?" she growled, clenching her hands into fists. "What did you do to Tucker?!"

Still cringing, Phantom lifted his hands in an attempt to placate her. This was no time for chitchat. "I didn't do anything. It's not safe out here. We're going back."

She ignored him. "So Tucker just let you go? Are you two working together or something?"

"I don't have time for this," he muttered and reached for her legs. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

"Hey! Let me—" Her voice was lost in the wind rushing past their ears as he flew up into the sky.

He saw the Fenton Works building as soon as he rounded the corner. Smoke was beginning to rise up from the windows. He'd have to put out the fire before the firefighters and policemen came nosing around. He was sick of all the interruptions he'd been getting lately.

He purposely entered the building from the second floor, because of the fire, first of all, and also on the off chance that Tucker was still downstairs. Unlikely, since Tucker could sprint like a professional when he had the right motivation, and a fire was definitely the right motivation, but he wasn't risking it.

They ended up in Jazz's room. He dumped Sam on the bed, quickly dematerialized through the floors into the basement and started up the ghost shield, and then went up to face the growing fire in the living room. Tucker wasn't there. That was a good thing. He wouldn't have known what to say. He'd done what he had to under the circumstances, but he wasn't ready to face the consequences of it yet.

He sucked in one big breath and concentrated on that core of icy cold inside of him. It spread throughout the inside of his body and soothed the dull sting of his injuries, a welcome extra that came with using this ability. He exhaled a stream of frigid air that cleared away the fire instantly. After pausing for a second to make sure there were no residual embers, he flew back upstairs and collided into Sam as she was on her way out of Jazz's room. With their limbs entangled, they toppled over onto the floor. Phantom cradled her head in his hand and wrapped his arm around her waist to prevent her from getting hurt. He banged his elbow on the floor, but after all the torture he'd just endured at the hands of a hundred ghosts, it really didn't faze him.

"Get off of me!" Sam ground out, vainly pushing at his shoulders.

But the sight of her beneath him made all his thoughts and plans disappear. He tightened his grip and stared down at her, mesmerized and in awe. It felt like it had been years since he'd been able to be this close to her. But, in fact, it had only been about a day. Her face was still flushed after flying through the air and her hair was completely disheveled, with strands temptingly clinging to her lips. Did she not realize just how appealing she was? To a man and even to a ghost. Those violet eyes of hers were hypnotizing and ethereal. She must know that. She must know those eyes were the reason they were here together like this now.

He leaned closer to her without realizing it, completely fixated on her eyes. His admiring was cut short when he felt her knee hit the wound on his chest. He grunted and rolled off of her and onto his back. Groaning, he pressed his hands against the definitely re-opened slash across his torso and glanced up at her with a sly smile. "You really know how to kick a guy when he's down, huh?"

She didn't waste any time talking to him. She headed out the door and ran for the stairs. He muttered a curse and scrambled up to his feet to follow her. "Tucker!" she yelled, leaning over the railing. "Tucker, are you here?"

Phantom grabbed her arm and yanked her back from the stairs. "He's not here!" he cried out, exasperated with her already. If only he'd been able to transform into Danny again. Things would've been different. She would've listened to him.

Sam whirled on him angrily, her eyes flashing with a hatred so intense and so familiar it made his shoulders tense up. That was the look he'd seen on the face of a much older Sam when she confronted Dan for the last time. "What did you do to him?" she snarled.

He averted his gaze, reluctant to see those eyes and recall the images of the future he'd seen. "What happened to the working together accusation?" he retorted, still keeping an iron grip on her arm. "What if we were?"

Sam shifted, bringing those blazing purple eyes of hers into his view again. He swallowed back his immediate reaction to flee and instead forced himself to look at her lips, her hair, her ears, her neck, anything but the eyes that loathed him. "You weren't," she said firmly. "If you were, I wouldn't have been kidnapped by the clones. The clones you weren't anticipating to see." She shook her head and took a step closer, again bringing her eyes into his sight. "No, you were waiting for the ghost shield to go down the entire time. And when it did, you made your entrance, you did who knows what to Danny, and before you could move on to me, the clones got in your way."

He narrowed his eyes. So that was what she thought of him. It wasn't like he'd done anything to prove her wrong, aside from saving her life which she seemed determined to ignore. For some reason, it made the anger boil within him, a long-lost friend. In that instant, the uneasy thoughts scrambling around in his brain—Tucker, the desolate future, the memories this house always brought—all evaporated into nothing at all. There was only Sam and the way she provoked him, the anger transforming and melding with desire to turn into heaping, pent up lust.

He straightened his back to loom over her, bringing his face so close to hers he could feel her breath on his lips. "Should I give you a reward?" he hissed, moving his other hand to the small of her back and roughly pushing her body against his.

She didn't fight it, though she sneered at him in disgust. Unwavering, she met his eyes and poured every ounce of hatred, resentment, and fury in her glare. "Give me Danny," she commanded.

His lips curved up in a smirk and he tightened his grip on her. "Oh? This sounds like a confession of love," he murmured, angling his head as though he was about to kiss her.

"He's a _friend_," she argued. "And get away from me."

"What if I want to confess next?" he breathed against her lips, running his hand up her spine. He moved his lips along her cheek, barely touching her skin, and then pressed his mouth to her ear. "Sammy," he purred and felt her shiver, unbidden, in his arms. He smiled, parted his lips, and bit down on her earlobe, gently worrying it between his teeth, eliciting a sharp gasp from her that sent tingles all the way down his body.

That's when he felt her punch his stomach, avoiding the slash this time, but the threat was still there. She wasn't a very fair opponent, always going for his injuries. He pulled away from her, still with a smirk on his face. Her face, on the other hand, was entirely red. "Too much?" he chuckled.

"You're disgusting," she spat.

He bowed his head as though to thank her for the compliment, then took hold of her arm and dragged her back into Jazz's room. "Let's stay put this time, shall we?" he said, shutting the door behind him and crushing the knob in his palm.

She gaped at him, but her shock at being trapped in the room with him lasted only a second. She rolled her eyes, laughing incredulously, like she couldn't believe any of this was really happening to her. "You love that trick, don't you? Melting doorknobs," she scoffed.

"No," he answered truthfully. "It's cliché. But I'll survive." His brows drew together, momentarily puzzled. "No, wait. I'm already dead, aren't I?" After all, he was a ghost. He laughed shortly and ran his fingers through his hair. That's right. He was no longer human. In a way, Vlad had gotten what he'd wanted. Danny Fenton had been killed. He wasn't as upset by that as he thought he'd be. Or maybe it was just that getting upset about it would solve nothing.

Or maybe Clockwork was right. The ghost in him was pushing out everything that made him human.

No matter.

He shook his head to banish those thoughts from his mind and feigned a bright smile. "Stay here, Sammy. Don't move," he cooed, patting her head. He laughed when she slapped his hand away.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me where Danny is!" she snapped. But he ignored her as he fazed through the wall and into the next room, _his_ room.

He knew exactly what he was looking for and exactly where it was despite not having been in there for the longest time. Focusing on that and that alone, he maneuvered through the room in the dark. The clouds of dust hanging in the air stung his eyes and made him cough. He rummaged through the drawers, drew the item he was seeking out from the very bottom, and swiftly made his escape.

Sam jumped when she saw his body materializing through the wall, even though she'd been staring at it intently while waiting. She narrowed her eyes when he grinned and stomped over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge. Her eyes followed him as he made his way to the window, unlocked it and opened it up, and then brought the whistle he'd just retrieved to his lips. He blew one long, high-pitched note and closed the window again.

Sam gave him a dubious look. "You're calling your pet dog?"

"Not quite." He sat down cross-legged beside her on the bed and gestured to the shackles still on her wrists. "I can take those off for you. It's not safe to have them on."

Her brows furrowed and she stared at him in confusion. "You know what these can do?" she asked, absently placing her hand over one of the cuffs.

He nodded and averted his gaze down to the bed. "Plasmius made me watch," he whispered. He saw her angle her body towards him and glanced up at her from beneath his lashes. Sparks seem to fly between them as emerald clashed with violet. She looked a little surprised, frustrated, and extremely pissed off. It was a start. At least she wasn't looking at him ready to kill. He lifted his hand to her cheek, curled his fingers over the shell of her ear and pulled away with silky strands of black hair caught between his fingers. "You're beautiful, Sammy," he admitted in a soft whisper and leaned forward to press his lips against her hair.

She leaned back away from him with a scowl. Her expression of utter disgust only made him want to tease her more. But he restrained himself, slipped his hand into hers, and stretched her arm across the distance between them. He felt her eyes boring into him as he leaned over and examined the cuff. The sight of her bruised and chafed skin made him clench his jaw together tightly. He hoped Vlad had been beaten to pulp.

He dug his fingers between the cuff and her skin, making her flinch. Green light appeared around his hands and he yanked on the cuff, slowly tearing it apart. Electricity crackled around the metal halves in his hands. He winced and dropped them to the floor with a dull thud. "Ow." He shook his hands and breathed a stream of cold air onto them. "Next," he said and reached for her other arm.

"There's got to be a better way," Sam muttered. Her eyes were glued to his hands.

Curiously, Phantom followed her gaze. His hands admittedly did look pretty bad. Even though the Ecto-Dejecto was acting like a pain-killer and made it a lot easier for him to move around, his wounds still hadn't healed. He would say it was a shame, but the fact that she seemed worried about him made the injuries worth it. "And here I was, under the impression that you didn't care about me," he grinned.

Sam's eyes widened. She growled and shoved her arm out in front of him. "I don't care! So hurry up," she snapped. But even that didn't hide the fact that she watched his hands from the corner of her eye.

He removed the second cuff from her wrist and flicked his fingers. "Feet up, Sammy."

"Would you stop calling me that?"

"No." He rolled her sweatpants up to her knees and swiftly tore off both of the cuffs around her ankles. She breathed a sigh of relief when he was done and started to shift back into a sitting position but he grabbed hold of her legs to keep her still. "Wait. I like this position, Sammy," he murmured. His eyes grazed the length of her leg, moving up to her firm stomach, her breasts, her slim shoulders, the dip of her collarbone, her long neck, her lips, her luminous eyes. Now that she was so close, even though she hated him he couldn't stop himself from wanting to touch her.

"I'll kick you," she warned, glaring at him. "And I'll aim for that cut on your chest."

"Cruel," he sighed. He lowered his hands from her shins to the tender skin around her ankles, causing her to gasp and shiver. He smiled. "See? I can be useful. Doesn't that feel good? Your skin is warm because of the chafing."

Her eye twitched. He found it unbearably cute. However, her foot aimed for his jaw was not cute at all. Since he didn't want to tighten his grip and aggravate her bruises, he jumped back to avoid the kick. He burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all. Sam just glared daggers into his skull and drew her legs to her chest. "You only think I'm warm because you're freezing," she grumbled. "What do you want with me anyway?"

Phantom rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Let's see… You're a girl. I'm a guy. What do you think I want?" he smirked and gave her a flirtatious wink.

Sam wasn't amused at all by the remark. She raised an eyebrow but otherwise said nothing.

"Were you expecting something else?" he asked.

"You're a ghost," she pointed out bluntly. "That kind of thing isn't possible."

Phantom's smirk widened and he looked at her through half-lidded eyes. "Shall I prove it to you then?" he murmured in husky voice. He started to crawl towards her on the bed. Her hand on his face halted his approach.

"No, thanks. I'm fine," she said and shoved him backwards.

He chuckled and leaned against the wall, absently running his finger over his bottom lip. Though he was always up for a chase, there was just something missing. And he knew exactly what it was. _Fear_. Fear would make the pursuit even more pleasurable. It'd been a while since he felt this way, felt this kind of power and control over a situation. He was enjoying it immensely.

"Sammy, you seem to have forgotten something," he said quietly, his eyes burning into hers, flashing with an ethereal fire. "You seem to have forgotten—" his body lifted into the air and he hovered over top of her, placing his arms on her shoulders and resting his forehead against hers, "—who exactly you're dealing with, and what I can do."

Her brilliant violet eyes widened and her lips parted in that expression he knew all too well. She trembled beneath his hands and her breaths quickened and became erratic. Her body exuded fear. He soaked it up like a sponge and slowly pushed her down onto the mattress. He lowered himself to her, wedging his leg between hers and bracing his hands on either side of her head to stare down at her. Though her body revealed her fear, her eyes were hard and unyielding. Smiling at how desperately she tried to be strong, he leaned down and burrowed his face into the side of her neck, inhaling her scent. If he were still human, the smell of her, her essence, would've traveled all the way to his groin. He sighed and pressed his lips against her skin, trailing kisses down her neck.

"Stop," Sam grunted, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Hmm?" He smiled and slowly dragged his tongue up from the dip of her collarbone to her chin. "You don't like it?" he murmured, kissing her cheek, her ear.

She gritted her teeth and turned her head to the side. "I hate it. And something's dripping on me."

"Dripping?" he repeated incredulously. He glanced down and snickered at the sight of ectoplasm from his chest wound steadily dripping down onto her shirt. "Whoops." He rolled off and lay down next to her on his side with their faces only inches apart. "That's what you get for playing unfairly," he teased. Sam opened her eyes. His expression softened beneath the weight of her stare. "What?" he murmured.

"What do you want?" she asked again. "Am I just going to be forced to keep you company like this for the rest of my life? Why don't you just kill me now? I don't want anything to do with you."

Phantom narrowed his eyes. Resigning herself to his whims wasn't the reaction he'd wanted. But what was he thinking? She wasn't going to all of sudden change her opinion of him, and this was technically their first meeting. He was moving too fast. Patience had never been a virtue he possessed. Besides, there were other more pressing matters to attend to.

He sat up and jumped over her to alight quietly on the floor. "I'm just keeping you safe," he informed her, hoping she would finally process his words this time instead of blatantly ignore them. "There are other ghosts after you."

"Somehow I find that hard to believe," she retorted, pushing herself to the edge of the mattress and letting her legs dangle.

He rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples. The girl was maddening. "Because me chasing you down after you left wasn't _enough_ of a clue? Ha! Are you stupid?" he jeered.

Sam clenched her jaw and crossed her arms over her chest. "Then tell me why. You're the only ghost who's been after me, stalking me. Are you saying all that was to protect me? Even destroying the apartment?"

Ouch. Well, that was a low blow. Sheepishly, Phantom scratched the back of his head and shuffled from foot to foot. "Well, no. _That_ wasn't really for protection," he confessed. "I was just getting to know you and… I already told you my reasons for the apartment. Anyway, I attracted some unwanted attention by doing that. I set something into motion that I don't know how to fix."

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "So, because of _you_, other ghosts are hunting me down. Like Plasmius?"

Phantom shook his head. "No. Plasmius was after you to get to me. The ghosts that are hunting you have orders to kill."

Her jaw dropped at that word, but the shock was short-lived. She still didn't look convinced. "So you're here to save me?" she scoffed.

"Yeah."

"I would've thought you'd be more than happy to kill me. Then we could live together in ghost harmony," she said sarcastically and rolled her eyes.

He rubbed his chin. "Sounds tempting," he mused, earning a sharp glare from Sam. Then he shook his head again. "But not everyone becomes a ghost. Can't risk it."

She eyed him skeptically. "How do I even know you're telling the truth?"

"You don't," he grinned.

She heaved a frustrated sigh. "Why are you doing this? What if I don't want your protection?"

His smirk fell and he only shrugged.

She refused to back down. "Tell me," she insisted.

He glanced at her briefly and shrugged again. "Because you belong to me," he said simply. "I thought I made that clear."

She laughed once and rolled her eyes again. "I'm inclined to disagree," she said.

"Rejected," he replied, flippantly waving his hand. She would've made another witty remark, but his shoulders abruptly tensed up and he whirled around to face the window, thus cutting her off. A familiar sound had just barely reached his ears, a keening howl that traveled across the distance, signaling him to be prepared. His guest had come quicker than he'd anticipated. Sam wasn't able to hear it so she stared at him in baffled surprise. He gave her a salute. "I'll be back soon. Play nice," he winked.

"What? Wait!" he heard her yell as his body dematerialized in front of her eyes and he flew down to the basement. With one hand resting on the console controlling the ghost shield, he waited, listening for that howl again. When it came, he shut off the ghost shield then quickly turned it back on again in the span of a few seconds. Good. Clockwork hadn't tried to tamper with anything, probably because he knew Phantom was still wearing the medallion. After making a quick round upstairs to check on Sam and make sure she was still where she was supposed to be, Phantom went to the living room to greet the guest with hunched shoulders, sharp fangs, pointy ears, and a long black tail waiting patiently for him by the front door.

"Wulf," Phantom smiled, relieved.

"Friend! It has been long since our last meeting," the large bushy-haired werewolf announced loudly and happily in Esperanto with a slight bow of his head. "I was on my way to meet you. The princess Dorathea sent me. They're demanding a message again."

Phantom's smile faltered. They went through the same conversation every time Wulf popped up in Amity Park and yet it still caught him off guard each time. "Right. That," he grumbled, responding in stunted Esperanto. "Make it a good one for me."

Wulf frowned, wrinkling his nose in distaste, though he didn't argue. He knew better than to do that. "I understand. Though I do not agree." Delicately, taking care not to damage it, he lifted the camera that was hung around his neck. "Will there be another picture? They were relieved to see it last time."

Phantom muttered a curse. With his thoughts occupied on Sam, he'd forgotten all about this. The large, lone yellow house in the midst of a field and a blazing sunny sky. The ghosts he'd gathered together for one purpose. The people held captive in that house. The family he tried so desperately to forget. The family whose horrifying deaths he'd been forced to watch in the images of the future. He hated this. He couldn't bear it if they were living, he couldn't bear it if they were dead. The only option was to forget they existed, but reality always had to rear its ugly head and force him to remember. He groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. The memories were creeping up on him, making his head pound. He wasn't human anymore. He shouldn't care.

That's right.

He wasn't human anymore. He had no connection to them. He shouldn't care. He didn't need to care. In fact, if he was being honest, he had no _right_ to care. He was no longer a son or a brother. He was a ghost. Their most hated enemy. It was time to give up those feelings of guilt and remorse. They only weighed him down.

He pushed all thoughts of them aside and looked up into Wulf's anxious green eyes. "Put that thing away," he demanded, flicking his fingers at the camera. If it had been someone else, he probably would've destroyed it. But Wulf treasured the little thing, since it was a gift from Dorathea as friends, and he didn't want to be unnecessarily cruel to one of his few allies and the guest he'd purposely been seeking. "I called you here for a reason. Two reasons actually," he explained, putting his hand on Wulf's giant, muscular arm and guiding him to the stairs. "A friend of mine is up there in the far left room. You need to make sure she doesn't escape. In fact, she might try to jump out the window, so let's make this quick. I need to visit Frostbite in the Realm of the Far Frozen. Can you make a portal for me?"

Wulf's eyes widened. His gaze quickly ran over Phantom's body, assessing the injuries and torn areas in his suit. "But you're wounded, friend. Would it be wise to travel the way you are?" he said gently.

"There's no other choice," Phantom snapped, shaking his head roughly. "My friend is in danger and I have to protect her."

"You are in danger as well," Wulf mumbled, absently scratching his long, dark snout. "While traveling, I heard the whispers. They do not like you, friend."

"I don't care. She's precious to me," Phantom said, narrowing his eyes. "And she really might jump out the window, so hurry," he added urgently. He wouldn't put it past her to tie the bed sheets together and throw them out the window. Even though he doubted they wouldn't reach far enough to land safely on the ground, she might just risk the jump to get away from him. As much as it hurt to admit it, it was plausible.

Wulf let out a resigned sigh. "I understand. I will help." With a _shink_, five razor-sharp green claws emerged from his paw. He raised his arm and sliced through the air, creating a rift that would lead him into the Ghost Zone.

Phantom thanked him with a nod and dove through the portal, leaving Wulf to handle Sam in his absence. He hoped his visit to the Far Frozen would go smoothly and swiftly. As powerful and trustworthy as Wulf was, he wasn't exactly bright. Sam might find some way to manipulate him if she noticed. The thought worried him immensely. He had to remind himself that Wulf had never let him down before.

Still, this visit needed to be snappy. Short, sweet, and to the point. That might be a little difficult considering his reputation amongst the inhabitants. They'd taken to calling him the _Savior of the Ghost Zone_ or the _Great One_ since he'd managed to lock up Pariah Dark after Vlad had stupidly released him to try to steal the Ring of Rage and Crown of Fire years ago. He wondered briefly what had happened to Frostbite and his people in the future, but then dismissed the thought. It was better not to think on that.

The frozen island that made up the Realm of the Far Frozen loomed in front of him, its glacial peaks rising high into the murky green sky. Its stark whiteness was almost threatening in the way that it shone and blinded him to anything else. He flew over the icy, snow-covered landscape, past advanced medical facilities and the stadium where he'd first learned to control the cold core inside him and use his cryokinetic abilities. Some of the Far Frozen creatures saw him and excited murmuring rippled throughout the land below him, gaining the attention of one particular yeti-like ghost with an ice-encrusted arm and two jagged crystalline antlers who stepped out to meet him as he alighted.

Frostbite was just as Phantom remembered him. Big broad shoulders, tousled masses of white fur, a long thick tail, gold bands around his forearm and waist, tattered blue cloth covering his legs and clasped around his neck like a cape, and those striking red pupils in dingy yellow eyes. "Oh Great One! Behold your humble servant, Frostbite, leader of the Far Frozen." The ghost bowed from the waist, though even lowered as he was, he was still much taller than Phantom. "To what do I owe the honor of your presence? It has been some time since we saw each other last," he said courteously in his rumbling voice. His eyes briefly roamed over Phantom's haggard appearance, but he wisely made no mention of it.

"I need to ask a favor of you," Phantom admitted, skipping the pleasantries. "There's someone I need to protect, and I'd like to ask for _your_ protection while I keep her safe."

Frostbite looked taken aback. "Why, of course!" he exclaimed, leaning down so that his huge face was level with Phantom's. "It is my honor to serve the Great One. There is no need to ask." His eyes scanned the area around them. "Where is this someone?"

"On Earth."

Frostbite's thick black brows furrowed in confusion. "On Earth? The Far Frozen do not often travel to Earth."

Phantom frowned. He knew that. But he needed them for his plan to work. Frostbite and the Far Frozen were highly respected and renowned both for their medical technology and their unusual abilities. Cryokinesis was something almost exclusively belonging to the Far Frozen, with the exception of himself. Clockwork wouldn't dare to offend such a venerable race by executing someone under their protection. That was what Phantom assumed anyway.

He lifted his hands out, gesturing helplessly. "Please, Frostbite. I have to protect her. You can bring us somewhere on Earth that closely resembles the climate and landscape here. Antarctica is fine. She just needs somewhere warm to stay. A hut. A log cabin. An igloo. Something. Just…help me," he begged. He never begged for anything. But these were ghosts he didn't rule over by fear. These were ghosts who actually looked up to him in a dignified way for the things he'd done to save them. The rest, like the citizens of Amity Park, had quickly forgotten.

Pensively, Frostbite rubbed his chin. He lifted his face to the glacial peaks rising up from the ground as if they would somehow give him the answer he sought. "She's human?" he asked.

"Yes."

Frostbite glanced down at Phantom, curious. "And important to you?" he added.

"_Very_ important," Phantom stressed.

"Then we will leave immediately. Two others will join me in selecting a suitable location, then they will return to escort you."

Phantom's shoulders drooped as he let out a huge sigh of relief. "Thank you, Frostbite. I'll return the favor one day. Anything you ask," he promised, holding out his hand.

Frostbite merely shook his head and gently pushed Phantom's hand back down beneath his large, clawed paw. "It is my honor to serve you, Great One," he said. "Let us make haste."

Phantom soared up above the ground with Frostbite behind him. Two other of the Far Frozen appeared at his sides as they neared the portal Wulf had left open. As soon as they passed out of the Ghost Zone and into Fenton Works, Frostbite nodded at him in passing and exited the building with the other two ghosts after Phantom quickly shut off the ghost shield, only to start it up again a few seconds later.

Good. Everything had worked out as planned so far, and he was feeling positively giddy. That was rare occurrence. Honestly, he was surprised Clockwork hadn't made a move yet. Not even in the slightest. Was he being given that headstart after all, or was this just another of his games? The calm before the storm was a deadly thing. Slacken your defenses and it was game over.

Phantom hurried up the stairs and passed through the door. He froze in his tracks by the sight that greeted him. To say he was shocked by what he saw was an understatement. Wulf had Sam trapped in a tight hug, practically engulfing her tiny frame in his arms, and he rocked back and forth lightly on the edge of the mattress, muttering in Esperanto. To put it shortly, it was kind of hilarious and slightly disturbing, a little bit irritating and sort of scary.

"Wulf, you should let her go," Phantom said, rushing over to his side to make sure Sam was still breathing. He pried her away from Wulf's arms and set her down on the mattress.

Violet eyes glared up at him furiously. "Play nice, huh?" she spat.

"Oh, good. You're alive," he smiled and patted her head.

She swatted his hand away. "I'm getting really tired of being manhandled," she scowled and crossed her arms over her chest as if that would somehow protect her.

Phantom stifled a laugh and turned to Wulf. "What happened?" he murmured in Esperanto.

"She was so desperate about leaving," the werewolf cried mournfully. "She did want to escape from the window. And then she asked me to help her escape. But I gave you my word, and you said she was in danger. I couldn't let her get hurt when I'd been ordered to protect her."

Phantom grinned and rested his palm against Wulf's arm. His hand was nearly swallowed up in the mess of black fur. "You did well," he assured him. "You can leave now."

Pitifully, Wulf held up the camera. "No picture?"

"None."

The werewolf whimpered and whined like a pet dog. "Not even with her?" he mumbled sadly, glancing at Sam who was staring at them in absolute bewilderment.

Phantom pondered the idea for a minute. Maybe if they—he refused to think on them with any term other than _they_—knew he had a companion, a female companion especially, they would stop asking for him so often. Maybe they would see that he'd accepted his lot in life, was dealing with it fine, wasn't being tortured and wasn't in any danger. They would know he was living normally and stop pestering Dora to pester Wulf to pester _him_. It would be the perfect end to the boy they once knew. With that, Daniel Fenton would be no more.

"The picture would have to be edited," Phantom whispered softly on the off chance Sam knew a little bit of Esperanto, though he highly doubted it from the amusing deer-in-the-headlights look plastered across her face.

"On a computer? Technus is adept at manipulating those devices," Wulf pointed out.

Right. Technus. He'd forgotten. Or more like, he'd erased it from memory. "Let him try. If it doesn't work, get rid of the picture," he ordered.

"I'm sure it will work. Technus likes Princess Dorathea, and she is loyal to you."

"He _likes_ her?" Phantom nearly gagged. He shuddered and stuck out his tongue. "Ugh. Whatever. I don't want to know. Get your camera ready."

Wulf showed off his giant toothy smile, frightening enough to make Sam's whole body tense up, and lifted the camera to his eye.

"What's going on?" Sam muttered, glancing from Wulf to him in confusion. "What were you two talking about? And…why are you getting close to me?" she added in a panicked tone, scooting away from him as he approached her on the bed. Her back hit the wall. He grabbed her arms and forced her to sit in front of him.

"Relax, Sammy," he smiled. "Wulf is taking a picture for memories."

"A picture?" she exclaimed incredulously, turning to look at the werewolf.

Phantom put his fingers on her cheek and turned her head to him again. "Yes. All you have to do is look at me," he said and rested his forehead on hers. "If you don't, I'll have to use force."

"Just a picture?" she grumbled.

"He's recently taken up scrapbooking."

"I see." She didn't question him further, only watched his glimmering emerald eyes as they flickered from her lips to her eyes and back again. There was something seriously wrong with her. There had to be. What other reason was there for her current predicament? She was holding sensible conversations with a maniac. Someone who had hurt hundreds of people, had destroyed her apartment, had done _something_ horrid most likely to Danny and Tucker, had run the only ghost-fighting organization—as stupid as the Guys in White were—out of town, had made the Fenton family disappear in the blink of an eye, and had tormented plenty of other individuals before her. So what in the world had possessed her to actually _talk_ to the ghost, allow herself to be _touched_ by the ghost, and now even take a _picture_ together for some weirdo wolf's scrapbook?

There had to be a screw loose in her brain somewhere. Maybe three.

It wasn't just fear for her life that was making her do these things because, honestly, her life wasn't all that great. Not that she had a death wish, but still. And he also didn't seem inclined to hurt her, if his protection story was to be believed. No, it was almost like talking to him felt _natural_. As if she'd done it before. As if she had some idea as to what to say and what to do in order to push his buttons and drive him into a frenzy and make him listen to her. Was that odd? Didn't that sort of thing only happen in movies or books when the two _soulmates_ finally meet each other? Automatically meshing with another person had never really happened to her, unless Danny and Tucker counted in some weird sort of convoluted way. And she certainly wouldn't put Phantom on the same level as them! Even _if_ they annoyed her to no end, which in Danny's case was almost constant. Oh, god. Not good. The image of Danny's freshly-showered look resurfaced from the depths of her mind.

There was definitely something wrong with her.

Sam flushed a deep crimson and balled her hands into fists.

Phantom chuckled softly and leaned in to her. His lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, "Something the matter, Sammy?"

She jerked away from him and glared down at her knees. "Shut up," she grumbled.

"Hmm. Well, Wulf is gone. Now, we wait." He sighed and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms behind his head.

Flabbergasted, Sam glanced around the room. "But when did he leave?" she gasped. She hadn't even noticed. She'd been too busy mentally kicking herself for being, well, _herself_.

Phantom picked idly at the frayed edges of his gloves. "When you were hungrily staring at my neck as though you wanted to devour me." He looked at her sidelong and smirked devilishly. "I know you're a vegetarian, but still, spectral vapor isn't a food, Sammy. You naughty girl."

"I was not—"

"A picture is worth a thousand words."

She growled and ruffled her hair in annoyance. "I hate you," she hissed.

"It's opposite day. I love you too, Sammy."

She sneered at him and slipped off the mattress, choosing to stand by the window instead. She wanted to be as far from him as the room would allow. He didn't protest. She heard him shift on the mattress and let out a soft, pained groan. She chose to ignore it.

The sun was finally starting to rise, steadily making its way up from the horizon. She had no idea what time it was, and really didn't have a desire to know anyway. She was trapped. She was allegedly a target for homicidal ghosts. She had no home. She had no family to turn to. Her only friends were missing, and she used the term _friends_ loosely, and she was hungry and tired and _stressed out_. In one week, her entire life had been turned upside down, shaken, beaten, crushed, and incinerated. There was nothing left, aside the ghost in the room who seemed to be the victim of some serious PMS. Honestly, when she'd imagined Phantom, she hadn't imagined him to be so…playful and mischievous. Well, she'd expected him to mischievous, but not in that childish sort of way. Gosh, she wasn't even making sense to herself. In short, he just wasn't the cold-hearted, demon-spawned, evil incarnate ghost she'd originally imagined.

But she still hated his guts.

The guts that were spewing out of his many, many wounds...

The guts that had landed on her shirt and left a damp spot where it fell...

Darn it. If she was going to be protected, then her protector at least needed to be able to stand when something came along!

Muttering curses to herself and to Phantom, she rummaged through the set of drawers in the dresser and drew out random pieces of black and white and teal-colored clothing that looked suitable for what she had in mind. She fished a pair of rusty scissors out of a shelf on the desk, sat cross-legged on the floor, and started snipping the clothes into strips.

"What are you doing?" Phantom mumbled from the bed, sounding a lot more exhausted than he had just a little while ago.

"Entertaining myself," she lied, narrowing her eyes at the scissors. She couldn't believe she was doing this. Why the hell was she doing this?

"Do you want me to entertain you instead?" he asked huskily, sitting up on his elbow to smirk at her.

For a brief second, she observed him, running her gaze over the slash across his chest, the scars on his arms, the puncture holes in his leg, the blistered and cut hands. She didn't even want to imagine what his back looked like. "Would you even be able to?" she snorted, turning her eyes back to her task.

His eyes flashed, glowing and burning into the side of her face. "Is that a challenge?"

Honestly. _What. Was. She. Doing?_ He wasn't a wounded animal. He was a ghost. She hadn't made a vow to help wounded _ghosts_. What was fate playing at here? She heaved a sigh and gave Phantom a stern look. "You're trying to protect me, right?"

His eyes widened marginally. He gaped at her, dumbfounded.

She felt a blush tinge her cheeks and scowled. "Then lie down and don't move. The more you try acting like Superman, the worse you'll feel later."

"So…" He glanced down at the floor then back at her. "You do care—"

"I told you to lie down! I never said I cared!" she hollered. In her rush of anger, she snipped a little too close to her finger and drew blood. Cringing, she stuck her finger in her mouth.

He was at her side instantly, his hands on her wrist. He pulled her hand away from her mouth and watched the blood bead on the tip of her finger, his gaze intent. He glanced up at her from beneath his lashes, his eyes practically smoldering, and slowly drew her finger into his mouth.

_Cold. Cold. Cold._ That was the only thing her mind processed. Then she felt his moist tongue swirl over her skin and shivered. "I told you to lie down," she hissed behind gritted teeth.

His pale lips curved up in a smile. He dragged his teeth across the skin of her finger as he pulled her hand out of his mouth, sending another shiver down her spine. "I'm a fast healer, Sammy. Just give me a day or two, maybe three, and I'll be smooth as silk."

"I'm bandaging you up," she said firmly. "Once I start something, I stick with it."

"And if I don't want you to?" he asked in a lilting voice.

"That's even more reason for me to do it!" she declared. She grabbed the strips of cloth she'd cut up and pointed at the bed. "So lie down."

He snickered and did as she said. "Yes, ma'am."

She leaned over him, placing one of the strips directly on to the slash running from his shoulder to his hips. Her eye was twitching. She knew it when he continued to snicker and shot him a warning glare. She flicked her fingers impatiently and he complied with her unspoken request, lifting his body horizontally in the air so that she could examine the wound on his back. Definitely the worst out of all of them. She placed wide strips from a pair of cut up pants on the mattress and gestured for him to lower himself again. She tied the pieces of cloth in front tightly, eliciting a grunt from him. "Sorry," she winced. He only shook his head.

She moved on to his leg next, peering at the deep puncture wounds as she chose a wide enough strip to cover them all. "What happened to you exactly?" she murmured, taking care not to look at his face when she asked. She lowered her head, shielding herself behind a curtain of black hair.

Phantom hesitated, long enough for her to regret the question. He made a quick shaking motion with his head that she assumed was his refusal to answer, but then he sighed throatily and covered his eyes with his arm. "Hell. That's what happened to me. I went from one battle to another with those clones. Then I was thrown in an electric cage with a shock collar around my neck that could've killed me. _Then_ I was dragged to a slaughterhouse, _literally_. Then I had the longest flight of my life, barely able to keep aloft. _Then_ a psychopath decided to mentally scar me since physical wounds weren't enough. Then I had to carry you _all_ the way to Fenton Works when I could barely carry myself. When I woke up, I was tied to _another_ electrical device, which Tucker shocked me with. In fact, if it weren't for the Ecto-Dejecto, I wouldn't be able to move at all."

"What?" she gasped.

Shocked by her outburst, Phantom lifted his arm from his eyes to glance down at her. "What?" he echoed.

"Ecto-Dejecto is supposed to weaken a ghost's powers!"

"Oh." Phantom cringed. "It doesn't, as you can see."

"How did you even know we injected you with that?" she demanded, tying the strip around his leg a little too tightly.

"Ow, ow! Tucker told me! I knew you'd injected me with _something_!"

Sam growled and tore the knot out of the strip so that she could redo it. "I'm starting to double-guess myself now," she muttered. Tucker had told her it weakened a ghost's powers. Had he known all along that it didn't? But Tucker was too…too…Tucker-ish to be that underhanded! And why would he have been siding with Phantom anyway? Unless…

Sam reached for Phantom's hands and pretended to examine them. "You did something to Tucker, didn't you? Soon after the apartment building fell?" She remembered his odd behavior distinctly. The way he'd flinched when she'd hugged him and tried to keep a safe distance away from her.

Phantom's eyes drifted from her face to the wall. "I may have…told him not to touch you," he confessed in a quiet, barely audible voice.

"And?" she prompted.

"And…maybe…accidentally…left some bruises on his neck."

"You strangled him?!"

"He's still alive, isn't he?!" Phantom shouted. He glanced away from her again. "I was angry. I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was doing," he muttered.

Sam clenched her jaw together and swiftly finished bandaging his hands. Done with her self-assigned task, she stalked over to the corner of the room and sat with her back against the dresser, facing the window. She couldn't believe him. Tucker had done _nothing_ to him. He'd done nothing wrong. _Touching_ her? Why was that such a big deal? Hell, if he wanted to punish every single person who'd _touched_ her in her lifetime, he was going to have a long job ahead of him. Just what was so special about her anyway?

She sat in silence, watching the angle of the light shift as the sun rose higher and higher into the sky. She wished she could think of something poignant and poetic, but all she wanted was the day to be over. She wanted to sleep away the madness, wake up in her own comfy bed, wear her own comfy clothes, eat her own comfy food, and just continue life the way it should've been without Phantom and his world of ghosts spoiling everything. Just because she'd researched occult things in the past, didn't mean she wanted to live it now.

Maybe fate was just playing a prank on her. A really frustrating, life-threatening, infuriating, stupid prank.

"Sammy."

The sound of that voice only made her anger rise. She narrowed her eyes into thin slits and pointedly ignored him. She heard the mattress creak as he shifted his weight. A cool breeze hit her arm. She whirled her head, intent on yelling at him, but he was still on the mattress with his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Puzzled, she looked down at the floor. Her soft gasp seemed to swell in the otherwise silent room.

It was the postcard her parents had sent from Hawaii. _Wish you were here! Business is good! Miss you lots! Mom & Dad._

Her eyes blurred with tears at the sight of their smiling faces. She didn't even bothering questioning why Phantom had it. She snatched up the postcard and held it to her chest.

"Dress warmly, Sammy," Phantom mumbled. "We should be leaving soon."

Although she wanted to ignore him, the notion seemed childish in her situation. She stood, turning her back to him, and smoothed the postcard out on the dresser. "Where are we going?" she asked mildly.

"Antarctica, maybe?" he said in a questioning tone. "I'm hoping for Alaska, myself."

Sam sighed and started rummaging through the drawers again. This was going to be the beginning of a most strenuous relationship.

* * *

The sound of the main door violently crashing open startled the secretary out of her seat. When she saw the panting, sweating, trembling mess of boy in the lobby, she held her finger over the panic button beneath her desk and narrowed her eyes.

"I-I…I need help," he stammered between large gulps of air.

She glanced at the boy over the rim of her glasses, raising one delicately curved eyebrow as if to agree.

"I…need to see the m-mayor."

"The mayor isn't in right now. Can I leave a message?" she asked, all courtesy and smiles, though her finger was still next to the panic button.

"Ask him…"

The boy's breathing was still erratic, but she declined offering him a glass of water in favor of him giving her the message and getting the heck out of there.

"Ask him if there's…such a thing as a ghost…that's also a human."

Her eyes widened and her red lips opened in a perfect _o_. "And what is your name, sir? And the number we may reach you at?" she asked, pen poised in her free hand.

"T-Tucker. Tucker Foley."

She jotted the name and number down in her neat cursive. "Is there anything else?"

The boy's face scrunched up as he debated the question. "Ask him…if he knows anything about…the incident with P-Phantom…and the Fenton family."

She nodded her head. "Of course. He'll be with you soon, Mr. Foley."

"T-thanks," he mumbled and fell to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

**Author's Note: **First off, thank you to all my readers and subscribers! The fact that you're actually taking the time to read my work is really something and I greatly appreciate it. Secondly, all my wonderful reviewers! I am always so excited to see your compliments and questions and introspection and everything else. I personally answer most of you, so this especially goes out to my guest readers! You guys rock! And to all the people who've added this story to your favorites list, you're awesome as well. Honestly, all of you are just so amazing. You all motivate me to write, so thank you!

Unfortunately with this note comes a bit of bad news, my summer is ending. Oh, yes it is. I won't be able to update as frequently as I have been with classes starting up again soon. I'm really sorry about that. It's a necessary evil. But I hope you'll continue to stick with me and see this story through to the end! It'll be one hell of a ride, I can promise you that. I even teared up writing some future scenes.

Thank you again everyone! Keeping reading and reviewing! And write your own stories too, since I enjoy reading as well. - Innocent Thief


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